


Since You've Been Gone

by miniaturefuries (rc13)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gay Sex, Jealousy, Masturbation, POV Root (Person of Interest), POV Sameen Shaw, shoot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc13/pseuds/miniaturefuries
Summary: Post-Samaritan with some flashbacks. Root's globe-trotting, Shaw's frustrated...Mixing up the POV between Root, Shaw & third person. I'm not a writer so I hope changing POVs isn't annoying to you guys - it's just more fun to write esp when I want to get beneath the surface of their relationship. Trying to stay close to character here, but still have some fun.Oh..and no one died in the Samaritan battle...the team's all here. :D





	1. Since You've Been Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Re-posted Chapter 1 in the present tense.

She hasn’t heard from Root in months and it’s unsettling to say the least. Lately, thoughts of Root constantly linger in the back of her mind taking over whenever her focus wavers, which is far too often. And her lack of concentration hasn't gone unnoticed. She reflects on her conversation with Reese earlier in the day.

* * *

 

“Shaw?” Reese pokes her arm from across the table as Shaw stares into her coffee cup. “See the future in there?” he teases. “You’ve barely touched your pancakes.”

Shaw doesn’t look up at him. Instead, pushes the plate away and fidgets with her cup. “Not hungry.”

“Two words I never thought I’d hear come out of your mouth.” His remark doesn’t even elicit an eye-roll. He sighs. “I’m sure she’s fine. We would’ve heard by now…if not.”

Those last two words send a chill up her spine. She glares at him. “The Machine has to know… _so why is it such a fucking secret?_ " directing an angry glance at the camera in the corner of the diner.

“Look, maybe you should just take a few days off,” Reese holds his hand up as she begins to protest. “You’re a bit…distracted and…” He’s referring to the mishap with their recent number.

Reese is right. The weight of his words press down on her sternum and Shaw’s shoulders slump even further as she’s reminded of her error. She is furious. She doesn’t make mistakes in the field. She slams her palm on the table, sloshing the coffee about in her mug. “Fine,” she bites out, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door. She knows Reese isn't judging her, that he’d shrugged it off as soon as it had happened, but he was also smart enough to know when she needed to be benched.

* * *

 

Crashing down on the couch, she props her feet up on the coffee table and balances a plate on her lap. It’s the first time in a few days that she’s had the time and energy to cook a meal. The Jets fumble as she opens her beer. She tosses the cap at the screen, annoyed, washing down a few bites of steak with the ice-cold beverage and sighing. Even watching her team lose is bearable when she has beer and a warm meal. The only thing missing is…she stops short willing herself not to think of her, but it doesn’t work.

In the year since Samaritan’s demise, Shaw and Reese are working non-relevant and even some relevant numbers while Root is frequently tasked with larger objectives. Too frequently, in Shaw’s opinion. They’re busy training new operatives and working in a tentative alliance with Control which Shaw doesn’t necessarily like. After all, Control almost killed Root, herself and Finch, but apparently, her team prioritizes world peace over self-preservation. Go figure.

Finch thinks it prudent to maintain a civilized relationship with a fundamental government agency as to avoid another Samaritan-like catastrophe. His words, obviously. Whatever. He’s the boss.

Really, Shaw’s just happy to be knee-capping people and saving numbers again…and, of course, being with Root. Not that she’s about to admit that out loud. Except, Root is busy trekking the globe on so many errands, Shaw’s barely seen her in the past several months. She never knows when she falls asleep if Root will be there in the morning. This used to be something she preferred from her late-night trysts, but things have changed. Shaw has changed. She wants to wake up next to Root. It gives her comfort knowing she’s safe.

But three months have gone by without a word and Shaw’s officially worried. Every time she  thinks of her, it feels like someone’s tightening a piano wire inside her chest. Root has an unhealthy habit of needlessly risking her life to do the Machine’s bidding. Anything for her god, no questions asked. This carelessness, Shaw knows, stems from Root’s guilt concerning her former life as a hacker/assassin. Ultimately, she doesn’t believe she deserves happiness after all the horrible things she’s done. That means Shaw is constantly saving her ass from doing dumb shit. Currently, though, she has no idea where Root is or who, if anyone, is with her. Not only is she unable to protect her, she can’t even call her to yell at her for being reckless.

Without Root, she’s unfocused, unsatisfied…feels less like herself. When had she become this person who relies so heavily on the presence of another? And when she thinks about the possibility of never seeing her again, her chest aches and her lungs feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves. She doesn’t know what to do with these feelings. This is uncharted territory for Sameen Shaw. Hell, her entire relationship with Root is uncharted territory. She’s in a constant state of imbalance and uncomfortableness and it makes her angry. The rest of these feelings she uselessly tries to drown out by shooting things (well, people actually).

The click of the apartment door snaps her out of her thoughts. She grabs her USP Compact from the coffee table, the weight of the gun in her hand, reassuring. The door swings open revealing a disheveled Root. Sameen watches as Root absently pushes the door shut behind her only just noticing the gun pointing at her. “Is that a gun in your hand or are you just happy to see me?” she quips with her usual sarcasm, trying to sound casual. It annoys Shaw that she’s acting as if she’s just gone out for pizza and hasn’t been MIA for the past several months. And she isn’t about to let it go.

She clicks the safety back on and snaps, “I didn’t realize you still lived here.”

Root leans back against the door, eyeing her wearily, “Worried about me, Sameen?”

“Nope. Just wondering when I’m getting my key back,” she replies angrily, feigning indifference and directing her attention back to the game. She awaits a snarky retort, but when nothing comes she glances back in Root’s direction. She notices Root’s slow and deliberate movement toward the bedroom and frowns, suddenly losing her appetite and pushing her plate away.

Root's leather jacket lays haphazardly on the bedroom floor. Shaw picks it up, lifting it to her nose, inhaling her scent. Closing her eyes, she remembers how Root’s body feels beneath hers, her desire momentarily getting the better of her. Rummaging through her pockets, she wants answers as to where she’s been all these weeks that warranted radio silence. A ticket stub from Tehran via Dubai. Her Order of Lenin medal. Her chest suddenly feels tight, her lungs shallow. She’s having difficulty holding on to her anger. While she’s been here working alongside her friends and coming home every night, Root has most likely been working among strangers and sleeping in various shitty locales never fully knowing what the following day would bring. The thought of Root being so alone doesn’t sit well with her.

The bathroom is filled with steam, but she can still make out Root’s body moving behind the distorted glass, her back to her. Root’s clothes, heaped in a pile on the floor, catch her eye. She notices the torn t-shirt dirty and damp with blood and kneels for a closer inspection. Blood on her jeans, too. She recognizes the distinct scents of gunpowder and gasoline. What the fuck happened? She stands up and angrily flings the shower door open. Root turns, startled. “What the-” she’s suddenly speechless as she surveys the extent of Root’s injuries. She realizes that her anger won’t lead to a resolution it will only make it more difficult for Root and that’s not what she wants. She quickly lets it dissolve, barely recognizing the woman in front of her. Root is noticeably thinner, hip bones and ribs jutting out more than usual. Her frame is marred by numerous, fresh injuries. There’s a ragged bullet wound above her hip that’s tender and pink with infection, various cuts on her arms (some still bleeding) and serious bruising across her abdomen.

Shaw carefully catalogs each wound, doing a mental diagnosis. She absently steps forward into the stream of hot water, forgetting about her clothes as she silently takes Root’s elbow, wordlessly turning her. There’s another large, oblong contusion across her back – a startling contrast of black and blue against the pale landscape. Trying to imagine what may have caused this trauma, an image of Root on her knees being beaten suddenly flashes through her head. Clenching her fists and willing the image from her mind, she drops her gaze momentarily, only to see the water swirling pink around Root’s feet. She swallows hard, pushing her now boiling rage deeper within her. She hates the Machine for not taking better care of Root. She hates herself for not being there to protect her. She hates Root for blindly following orders and carelessly risking her life. But ultimately, she knows, her anger is masking fear – a fear of losing the one person who means everything to her.

Root turns back around facing her and replies lightheartedly, in typical Root fashion with a dismissive attitude. “Boys play rough when you take their toys away.” She attempts a smile, meant to be reassuring but it comes across half-hearted and weak like she’s about to be sick. Shaw stares at Root, desperately trying not to say something that will only push her away.

“I’m fine,” Root says, quickly dropping her gaze, seemingly embarrassed.

Sameen clenches her jaw and speaks in a low, clipped tone, “No. You are not fine. That bullet wound’s infected. And you’re bleeding. Maybe even internally,” gesturing toward the bruising.

“Flesh wounds,” she says casually, attempting a shrug, but wincing instead.

Shaw shakes her head in frustration. Why does she always have to be such a pain in ass? “Look. I’m sorry, ok? For what I said," she lifts Root’s chin with her outstretched hand to force eye contact.

She sees tears forming, but wills herself to keep looking anyway. As usual, words fail her. Instead, she reaches out, carefully wresting the soap from her hand, gesturing for her to turn around once again. She lathers her hands and gently begins massaging Root’s neck and shoulders. Root leans into the shower wall. She hears a small moan escape Root as she works her way down her back, all the while checking for any unseen injuries, subtly adjusting the pressure if she feels Root suddenly tense under her fingertips. She works her way down to her waist, careful to avoid the bruises and bullet wound. She will get to that later, she thinks, not wanting to cause her any more pain right now. She kneels and runs her hands down each one of those long legs washing in small, methodical circles, pushing desire from her thoughts and cautiously trying to keep her hands from traveling too far up the inside of her thighs though she knows Root won’t protest if they do. It’s as if Root reads her mind.

“Please,” Root whispers, resting her forehead on the shower wall, “I just…need you.”

Shaw understands. Root is emotionally drained. Physically hurt. Something went sideways on her mission. And her sanctuary, her safe place, is here. With Shaw. But Shaw didn't welcome her. Instead, she'd been angry when she should have been grateful. It's clear from her injuries that she's lucky to be alive. Shaw wraps one arm around Root’s waist, lightly pressing her body against Root’s back, reaching between her legs from behind. Sameen’s touch is slow and gentle, her fingers working her clit with commanding precision. Root reaches back, grabbing Shaw’s thigh to steady herself, digging her nails in harshly. Shaw stops momentarily and a whimper escapes Root, “Don’t stop.”

Shaw bites down on her shoulder blade and breathes into her skin, “I want to taste you.” She turns Root, pushing her against the shower wall and placing her mouth where her fingers had been. Root closes her eyes and lets out a long-contented sigh, one hand bracing against the wall, the other tangled in Shaw’s wet hair. Shaw sucks and licks, bringing her to a slow, sweet orgasm with her tongue. She feels Root’s racing heartbeat beneath her fingertips, her body trembling with adrenaline. Before Root can catch her breath, Sameen puts her mouth back on her and curls two, then three fingers inside, gently working her g-spot. She moans, moving her body against Shaw’s hand, tightening her muscles around her fingers.

Shaw presses her free hand against her abdomen to steady her while she brings her to the edge of a second, then third orgasm. Root whimpers, head back, hands in Shaw’s hair and on her shoulder, a stream of tears mixing seamlessly with the water cascading over her face and down her neck. She doesn’t try to hide them, knowing they’re brought on by sheer relief, exhaustion and…happiness, not weakness. Shaw looks up at her momentarily. Seeing the most vulnerable side of Root unlocks something within her. Sameen knows she’s the only person in the world to truly see her, know her. No manipulation or con, fake smile, sarcastic quip. When it’s just the two of them, like this, they don’t hide. When she finishes, Shaw stands, pressing herself gently against Root, holding her up with her body, Root’s heartbeat echoing in her own chest. Root kisses her softly, tasting herself on Shaw’s lips. “I missed you,” she mumbles into her mouth.

“I, maybe, missed you, too,” Shaw whispers back.

“That’s reassuring,” Root grins, sinking her teeth into Shaw’s neck playfully.

Shaw pulls back, “Excuse me, but didn’t I just give you multiple welcome home orgasms?”

“Guilt, Sameen. For the un-welcome home earlier,” Root’s teasing and Shaw’s glad of it.

“You just wait,” she threatens, gently rocking her in her arms. “You’ll pay for that later.”

“Promises, promises, Sameen."

Once out of the shower, Shaw unceremoniously strips off her saturated clothes, catching Root staring as she dries off. “What’re you looking at?” she smirks.

“Just admiring the view. Thinking about…later.” Always a flirty little shit, no matter her injuries or previous state of sexual satisfaction. Insatiable.

Shaw shakes her head. “Well, I don’t think you’ll be up for anything later. This is going to hurt and not the fun way that you like,” Shaw replies as she pulls on a black t-shirt and running shorts. She cleans and bandages the cuts; butterfly bandages on the deepest one. Shaw puts her fingers on Root’s hip taking a closer look at the bullet wound. “You’re gonna need to lie down for this.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Root,” Sameen rolls her eyes. “I don’t have any Lidocaine so let me know if you need a break.” Luckily, Root passes out half way through the process. Shaw hooks up an IV, injecting a strong dose of antibiotics into the saline to combat the infection that has set in, as well as, a little something that will allow her to sleep. Once finished, she bandages her up and pulls a blanket over her.

Shaw kneels, brushing damp hair from Root’s face and tucking it behind her ear, resting her fingertips on her cheek for a moment and lightly kissing her lips. Quietly closing the door behind her, she calls Finch. “I’m going to need a few days, Finch.”

He begins to protest, but she quickly shuts him down. “You wouldn't want me endangering Reese again with my lack of focus, would you, Harold?”

“Take as much time as you need, Ms. Shaw.”

A little later, scotch and sandwich in hand, she carefully crawls into bed next to Root propping up pillows so she can do some reading. As she eats, she pecks at the keyboard on one of Root’s laptops. Ever since med school, she has developed a habit (pastime, really) of trolling medical journals in search of surgical techniques, odd cases and correlations…really anything interesting that catches her eye. Originally, she did it to stay on top of her game and be the best, because, despite her proficiency at killing people, she's equally as skilled at saving them and has never quite abandoned her passion for medicine. Shaw suspects Root knows of her habit (or the Machine?) because all her favorite journals are conveniently bookmarked. She glances down at Root sleeping…her brilliant hacker girlfriend and apparent cyberstalker…who does little things like bookmark her favorite medical journals to let her know she cares.


	2. Flowers are for rookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw caring for Root & trying to keep her in one place for a minute...  
> sorry it's short :(

The Marines taught Shaw to appreciate early mornings.  Never one to sleep much anyway, she only requires five or six hours at most. It was an advantage in med school and when she enlisted. Sleep deprivation was a tool they used to break you, but it had never been an issue for her.

Root, on the other hand, had horrible sleeping habits (shocker). She’d code for hours on end, lose track of time, forget to eat and then crash for a solid twelve in a completely comatose state. Shaw had been in the habit of ripping the laptop from her hands, force feeding her and then carrying her to bed. Most of the time Shaw felt as if she lived with an unruly teenager what with the protesting, pouting and eventual compliance after the promise of sexual favors. Shaw would reflect on those moments and wonder how exactly she’d ended up in… _a_ _relationship? Ugh…NO! Fluctuating cohabitational situation?_ _Yes, accurate…_ as the adult _slash_ voice of reason. Baffling.

On this morning, Shaw is up at five (her usual) and out the door by six, just as the sun is coming up. She jogs to Astoria Park and does an easy loop all the while trying to process the events of the previous day. Her path had always been straight, easy, predictable: eat, sleep, fuck, shoot some people, save some people, pet all the dogs. Root was the first bend in that road and she’s still learning to adjust to life with (more recently, without) her. But Samaritan. Samaritan was a fucking hairpin turn. And since her return, she has deeper access to some feelings that she would have preferred stay buried. Things were messy where they used to be quite simple. Greer and Martine had gotten in her head. Introduced her to nightmares. Made her doubt herself. She feels uncomfortable at times. She realizes normal people would call this feeling anxiety. And the main catalyst of her uncomfortableness…Root. Caring so much about another person who doesn’t care much for herself was difficult to say the least. She still has a lot to work through and some of it, she realizes now, is just her new normal.

Root had been asleep when she left on her run. Not surprising really since Shaw made sure to dose her with more sedatives. She just wanted her safe and in one place for more than a day. She certainly didn’t think Root would leave, but it wouldn’t be her idea if she did. If the Machine needed her back in the Middle East tomorrow, Root wouldn’t hesitate. They both know that things greater than their own lives are at stake, but it doesn't sit well with Shaw that Root always has one finger hovering on the self-destruct button.  Clearly, something significant is on the horizon. Maybe worse than Samaritan considering all the time Root is spending overseas these days. Shaw isn’t about to sit on the sidelines and wait for Root to get hurt again. Time to get in this game. By the end of her run, she resolves to have a conversation with both Root and the Machine before Root is on the move again.

Shaw grabs breakfast at her favorite coffee house, 60 Beans, and heads back to the apartment. She enters quietly, leaning against the counter to eat and finish her coffee.  _Might as well give her another hour_ , she thinks. The sedatives should be wearing off soon enough, but really, Root needs the rest. With no one looking out for her, she probably wasn’t sleeping and clearly hadn’t been eating from the looks of her emaciated frame.

Arms crossed standing in the bedroom doorway, she silently watches Root sleep. She looks so peaceful Shaw almost doesn’t want to wake her, but she needs to check her wounds. She sighs and decides to put it off a little longer and heads for a shower.

***

Shaw pulls her wet hair back in a loose ponytail and drags a chair to the edge of the bed. “Hey, Root,” she says quietly, sliding a warm hand under the covers and up the inside of her thigh. Root stirs, eyes still closed tightly, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “You better be willing to finish what you start, Sameen.” Her voice is drowsy and sleep filled, relaxed. In that moment, Shaw wishes she could just crawl under the covers, pull the blankets over them both and never leave the safety of their bed again.

Shaw ignores her suggestion, silently shaking her head, and replies, “I brought you breakfast.”

“Mmmm…wrong answer,” Root stretches a little, careful of her injuries, refusing to open her eyes to the morning light.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I could sleep for a month,” she mumbles finally looking at her. “My mouth feels like it’s full of—“ Root stops mid-sentence. “You drugged me.” It’s not accusatory, just matter of fact.

“Didn’t want you wandering off,” Shaw responds unapologetically.

Root's eyes light up, teasingly, “Flowers are so conventional, mundane. But tranquilizers? A much more intimate expression of love, don’t you think?”

“Weirdo.” Eye-roll. “Flowers are for rookies, anyway.”

Shaw offers her a coffee, but Root shakes her head. “Water?”  Shaw grabs the glass from the nightstand. She can’t help but stare at her throat as she swallows, wishing she could sink her teeth into that beautiful flesh, curl up next to her and breathe her in. Root quickly finishes and quirks an eyebrow at her. Sameen takes the empty glass and Root extends her arm with the IV, tilting her head questioningly. Shaw should have known it would bother her considering that the last time she had a needle in her arm was at the hands of Control. It hadn’t been lost on her as she pushed it into her vein last night, hard to ignore with all those scars, but she was concerned the wound would go septic and wasn’t willing to risk it.

Shaw sighs. “Only if you promise to take the oral anti-biotics _regularly_ and until they’re finished,” she lectures, not sure why she’s even bothering to negotiate with someone who essentially never follows her instructions anyway.

Root nods emphatically and is clearly about to make a comment regarding Sameen’s use of the word “oral” when Shaw puts her hand up. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” she pouts. “I assure you it was good.”

“I think you mean corny.”

“Just admit it, you missed my clever one-liners as much as you missed me.”

“ _Cheesy_ one-liners and I’d rather have sepsis,” Shaw deadpans.    

Snapping on some surgical gloves, Shaw removes the port. As she pulls back the blankets, the cool air sends a chill throughout Root’s body.  She shivers, goosebumps cover her flesh. Shaw works efficiently as Root quietly observes. Root knows that once Shaw is in doctor mode, nothing distracts her. Not even a completely naked Root. Unfortunately.

She pulls out her stethoscope. “Take some deep breaths for me.” Shaw warms it up before placing it against Root’s chest. She listens to her heart, lungs and various places across her abdomen. Shaw’s touch is soft, guiding, in sharp contrast to their usual preferred interactions. An overwhelming feeling suddenly surges through Root and she finds herself blinking back tears. She has never mattered so much to another person, never been made to feel so wanted, cared for and safe. After all the horrible things she’s done, she can’t believe that she deserves this…knows she doesn’t deserve this. She quickly buries her thoughts and forces herself instead to focus on Sameen’s touch.

“Sit up for me,” Shaw requests, carefully helping her lean forward.  Root breathes deeply as Shaw’s hands make their way across and down her back. Shaw can easily count each rib, see the definition of her spinal column beneath her skin. “Root,” she whispers as she runs her fingers lightly over the protruding bones. That _uncomfortableness_ sneaks into her chest. She quickly compartmentalizes, reminding herself of her purpose. Right now, Root is her patient.

Much to Root’s displeasure, Sameen cleans the bullet wound again and applies more topical antibiotics to draw out the infection. She drapes the stethoscope around her neck and Root swallows audibly, feeling her face flush. _Doctor_ is such a hot look on her. Shaw must notice her reaction, but doesn’t say anything.

Shaw cleans up, puts away her gear and leans back into her chair. “You need to gain some weight back,” she sighs, avoiding eye contact. “And you need time to heal, so you’re not going anywhere until I say so. Doctor’s orders.”

“Sameen, you know if I had my choice I’d never leave this bed, but things-“

Shaw cuts her off. “I know, Root, things are happening. Things are always happening, but I want you, no, _I need_ _you_ to want to take care of yourself.” Shaw stares down at her hands. She doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. “It’s hard enough fighting bad guys every day, but it’s even harder having to fight you, too.” She pauses, looking up at Root, searching her face for acknowledgement. Root gives a slight nod, but doesn’t say anything.

“And,” she adds, “I want to know what’s happening in Iran. _Every detail_.”


	3. Nerdapalooza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took forever...mostly plot development with some shameless groping and overt come-ons

“So, what’s the emergency Finch?” Shaw takes a closer look at Finch’s screens, leaning over while cramming a donut into her mouth. Finch grimaces, brushing stray donut powder from his desk and keyboard. Shaw notices, but purposely ignores his perturbed reaction while Reese smirks into his coffee.

Finch clears his throat in an attempt to remind Shaw that she’s clearly infringing on his personal space. “We have a new number.” He stands abruptly and tapes a photo to the subway window. “Dr. Julia Reyes. She’ll be at the UN presenting tomorrow on behalf of the International Conference on Nuclear Security.”

Shaw was still hovering over the monitors much to Finch’s dismay. “Hmmm…Nuclear Security and Industry in Vietnam. Sounds boring as hell.” She skims the list of guest speakers. “Nerdapalooza,” she says, dryly, wishing now more than ever that Root could take this one. “And why exactly do you need me? We have recruits to help with the numbers now.”

“Dr. Reyes is a relevant number.”

Reese chimes in, “Root can’t-”

Shaw shoots him a look. “ _No_.”

Reese raises his hands defensively, “Sorry I asked.” He moves away to give her some space.

“Ms. Groves sustained significant injuries on her last mission and it’s been made clear that she needs time to recover,” Finch uses a cautionary tone while simultaneously raising an eyebrow at Reese. _Don’t poke the bear._ Ultimatums may have been made. To both Finch and the Machine. No missions until she was completely recovered. And Shaw goes on the next assignment with her. Those were her stipulations.

Reese nods, understands. “And why exactly do we think Dr. Reyes is being targeted?”

“I _assume_ this must have something to do with her development of the RADLOT system, but I cannot be certain.” They both look at him for further explanation. “Radiation Source Location Tracking system for overseeing and imposing stricter control of the movement of radioactive materials to help reduce the global threat from category 1 radioactive sources.”

Shaw interjects, “A GPS for nuclear material?” The man could complicate a cup of coffee.

“Essentially, yes.” Finch pauses, turning himself toward Reese. “Mr. Reese, you and Detective Fusco will be working a security detail at the conference.”

“How’d that get approved by my Captain?”

“You volunteered for it…after your regular shift,” Finch says the last part slightly under his breath.

“Thanks Finch. I’m sure Fusco won’t complain at all,” he says tossing his empty coffee cup into the trash.

“Ms. Shaw, you’ll be attending the conference as Dr. Alicia Javadi, nuclear physicist, visiting from Stanford University.” Finch hand’s her a manila envelope. “You’ll find all the necessary credentials enclosed.” He swivels his chair back around toward his screens. “Please be careful.”

Reese and Shaw stock up on what they need. Shaw grabs extra clips and makes sure she has a few smaller handguns so she can conceal them under whatever it is she may be required to wear at the conference. Together, they make their way back up to the street.

* * *

 

Shaw slips her key card into the door and almost let’s it close behind her when there’s a light knock. She pulls it open again, clearly annoyed, “Yes?”

“Dr. Javadi? Your dry cleaning,” a young man dressed in a hotel uniform thrusts the hangers into her hand and waits expectantly. Shaw glares at him. “Uh, _thanks,”_ she replies, letting the door slam in his face.

There’s a muffled giggle coming from the bedroom and although Shaw is certain she recognizes the source, she drops her bag and draws her gun, cautiously moving around the room divider. “Root?”

She’s sitting on the bed, pillows propped up behind her typing away on her laptop. Shaw can’t help but notice the black dress that stops just above her knee. She pauses to look over her glasses at Shaw as she enters the room. “He was waiting for a tip, sweetie,” Root grins, playfully.

“Whatever.” Shaw realizes she’s still holding her gun and the drying cleaning. She absently places them on the dresser. “Root, what the hell are you doing here?” Shaw’s clearly angry, but can’t keep her eyes from traveling up those long legs wondering exactly what (if anything) is underneath that dress. Probably nothing, she surmises. Roots legs are distracting...and…it’s kind of…maybe...working. She’s certainly not playing fair. Some things never change. “This,” Shaw gestures at her, “isn't going to make me change my mind about putting you back on active duty.” 

Root pouts, “I can’t stay in the apartment any longer. It feels more like house arrest than rest and recovery. I’m not a child.”

Shaw stares back at her, waiting for her words to sink in.

“I resent that implication.”

Shaw snorts. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“I’m here to help with the number.”

“No. You’re not. She and I have a deal…and you don’t know anything about this number.”

“Actually, Dr. Javadi…”

“The Machine filled you in on this?” Shaw is now furious.

“This is connected to Iran.”

“And you were planning on telling me this when exactly?”

Root purses her lips, placing her laptop on the bed, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Now?” She tilts her head to the side…that look she knows Shaw can’t resist.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Shaw grumbles, shaking her head and sighing, defeated. Root’s been back for a week and she still hasn't given Shaw any information on where she’s been or what happened. Her patience is wearing thin. And if Root has information on their number she needs to know.

Root crawls over to the edge of the bed, sits on her knees and reaches for Shaw’s forearms, squeezing them reassuringly. “But first…,” giving her a provocative smile. “No reason to waste this amazing room...,” her voice trails off as she raises her eyebrows questioningly.

Shaw immediately clamps her hands over hers. “Root.”

“Sameen.” She looks up at her, half pleading, half annoyed. “You've been avoiding me.”

“You need the rest.” She lets go of Root’s hands pushing them down by her sides, which doesn't last long.

“I assure you, I’m well rested. And I’ll gladly prove it to you.” Root tugs at her belt playfully. “And I’m not talking until I hear you beg.”

Shaw scoffs at her, “Well, that’s not happening.”

“Challenge accepted,” Root smiles back at her seductively. She slowly untucks Shaw’s shirt and slides her hands underneath, her fingers cool against Sameen’s warm skin.  

It’s not like Shaw hasn't been thinking about this exact moment for months, but it’s only been a week and Root’s still wincing in pain when she moves too quickly. Shaw’s phone beeps suddenly. She frowns as she answers, “Finch, you officially have the worst timing on the planet.” Technically, the Machine has the worst timing, but Finch appears to be rising in the ranks. Maybe it’s a conspiracy between the two of them to keep Shaw from getting laid.

Finch ignores the comment, assuming he’s interrupted something between them. “Dr. Reyes has arrived at the hotel. If you could…introduce yourself?”

“I’m on it, Finch. Just need to get changed.” Root gets off the bed and unzips the dry-cleaning bag, eyeing the contents appreciatively and nodding in approval – navy blue blazer, white blouse, skirt, heels. In a separate bag, she finds earrings and glasses. Root moves to stand in front of Shaw, reaches to unbutton her pants. Shaw bats her hands away, giving her an accusatory frown. “I’m simply trying to expedite the process, Sameen,” Root whispers innocently.

Root knows Shaw won’t yell at her while she’s talking to Harold, so she keeps trying to remove articles of clothing as Shaw blocks and evades her attempts. There was a time when Shaw would simply have landed a single punch to put a stop to it, but after four years, she rarely denies Root’s advances. On some level, Shaw enjoys the shameless groping and sexually charged comments. And allows it because…well, it’s Root. _At least they’re not in public_ , Shaw surmises.  

“Quickly or we’ll miss our window. Dr. Reyes is on a strict schedule and she rarely deviates. She can be a bit…for lack of a better term, reserved.” He enunciates the last word.

Shaw reads between the lines. “You mean difficult, Finch? You know difficult people are my specialty,” she looks directly at Root. Her comment earns her a pinch.

“She has very little patience for small talk.”

“I like her already.” She ends the call and proceeds to get undressed. Root has thankfully retreated to the bed and is propped up on her side, pretending to be immersed in something on her laptop, but Shaw knows she’s watching.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Always.”

Shaw slips into her skirt, pulls on the heels, clips her ID to her lapel and is about to leave when Root catches her elbow.

“Don’t forget these,” she slides the glasses onto Shaw’s face and holds out her earpiece. “I’m up to speed on Dr. Reyes’ research,” Root leans in kissing her neck, sending shivers down Shaw’s spine, but outwardly eliciting a frown. “…if you need me.”

Shaw shakes her head and sighs, turning for the door. Finch cuts in over her comm. “Ms. Shaw, she is making her way down to the introductory session, about to reach the elevator. You should hurry.”

“Heading there right now, Finch,” Shaw grumbles, annoyed. She moves quickly down the hall, thrusting her hand in the elevator door as it begins to close. Not surprisingly, Dr. Reyes doesn't move to hit the button. Finch wasn't kidding. Shaw side eyes her. Dark complexion, dark hair, taller than she expected. She’s wearing a sleeveless blouse that shows off well defined arms. Brilliant, athletic…and hot. Root suddenly chirps in her ear. “You made it,” Root purrs. She’s tapped into the elevator feeds. “Why don’t you start with the technology she developed? That should warm her up a bit.”

Shaw has read through her research and knows about the RADLOT system, but it doesn't hurt having Root (and an AI) as backup. As they exit the elevator, Shaw touches her arm, “Dr. Reyes?” She introduces herself and launches into a discussion about the system. If there’s one thing she’s learned, stroking an ego (amongst other things) is the quickest way to win someone over. Flattery will get you everywhere.


	4. Can't Keep My Hands To Myself

“I think Dr. Reyes has a crush on you, Shaw,” Root’s voice comes over her earpiece. Luckily, Root is on a separate line from the boys. She’s been chirping in her ear throughout the evening so Shaw is quickly able to gain Reyes’ respect with her (Root’s) knowledge. Reyes is thoroughly impressed and maybe a little intrigued by Shaw.

A smile suddenly spreads across her face as she tilts her head a bit. Is Root _jealous_? Shaw thinks back to what almost happened with Tomas. Root never denied her, but ultimately, she couldn’t do it. It felt…wrong somehow…like she would have hurt Root. But the sexually charged banter they exchanged had certainly fueled the fire for later in the evening. Shaw had never experienced jealously herself and she didn’t think Root was the jealous type, but Root made it clear that she was grateful that Shaw had chosen her over Tomas. The most intense sex of her life…so far anyway. Root had a way of pushing boundaries and continuing to surprise her like no one she’d ever known. 

Shaw rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her wine, “What can I say, I’m a people person.” She is busy scanning the room, keeping an eye on Reyes and looking for any suspicious activity only half listening to Root drone on in her ear. She catches Reese’s eye as he hovers near an entrance, nods over to Fusco. “All good here, Shaw. Haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary all night.”

“Having fun, Fusco?” Shaw half smirks in his direction.

“Working this nerd convention is like watching paint dry. Makes me wish Fruit Loops was here…she’d be entertaining at least.”

“That can be arranged,” she smiles, knowing how much Root loves to antagonize Fusco.

“On second thought…boring is good.”

Her eyes drift back to Reyes. Shaw watches her work the crowd. She’s a striking figure; tall and elegant, tan skin and flowing dark hair. She’s perfectly polished. There’s an energy about her that attracts people, but she looks…bored. Shaw hasn’t known her long, but she can already tell the difference between sincerity and manipulation. She’s seen similar mannerisms and masks on Root. Reyes reminds her of Root in some ways.

Dr. Reyes suddenly appears at her side, drink in hand. Shaw raises an eyebrow and gives her a convincing smile, “Ass kissing complete?” She’s been leaning against the corner of the bar awaiting her return.

“Yes. Same male-dominated, egotistical, boring crowd. These smug chauvinistic assholes acting as if they know everything. It’s refreshing to meet someone who actually has a clue about my technology and isn’t just trying to fuck me.”

Root suddenly chirps in her ear, “I’m not so sure about that.”

Shaw almost chokes on her drink.

A small giggle reverberates in her earpiece.

“Are you okay, Dr. Javadi?”

“Wrong pipe,” Shaw rasps. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” She rounds the corner toward the bathrooms, “ _Root, cut it out or I’m cutting you off.”_

“Can’t help myself, Sameen.” Shaw can practically hear the smile on her face. Root’s enjoying this way too much.

“ _Try_.”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“ _Seriously._ ”

“You can always punish me for being disobedient.”

“We both know you’d enjoy that too much.”

“So true. I guess this is kind of win-win for me then, isn’t it?”

Shaw sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Root is obviously worried about something. Seems like she’s purposely pushing her buttons. Is she nervous about Reyes? Certainly, Shaw’s attracted to her. _Who wouldn’t be?_ The woman is brilliant and beautiful. She knows she doesn’t _want_ to do anything. Granted, Shaw’s been keeping her distance this past week because of Root’s injuries, but truthfully, she’d love nothing more than to rip Root’s clothes off, slam her up against a wall and _hurt_ her. She’s beyond frustrated at this point. She feels a headache brewing and she just can’t deal with it right now so she shuts off her comms and walks back, briefly glancing up at the camera behind the bar.

Shaw interrupts a short nerdy professor with thick glasses and a bad comb-over trying to hit on Dr. Reyes. Shaw presses close to her side while simultaneously thrusting out her hand. “Hi there,” she tilts forward a bit to read his name tag, “ _Dr_. _Jenkins._ I’m Dr. Alicia Javadi.” Shaw grabs his hand and squeezes so hard he lets out a little squeak.

He stops mid-sentence, nervously straightening his jacket and pushing his glasses back up his nose. Unsure of what to say, he clears his throat and stammers, “I-I just remembered I’ve got to meet…” his voice trails off uncertain of how to finish the sentence as he scurries off in the opposite direction. He kind of reminds Shaw of Finch (the uncomfortable stammering, anyway) except Finch is a much better dresser.

“Well that was…interesting…”

“Thanks for rescuing me,” Dr. Reyes, pauses and tilts her glass into Shaw’s, “Call me Julia.”

“Middle name’s Samantha. My friends call me Sam.” She hates the name Alicia. It reminded her of a snotty girl back in high school who was constantly making snide remarks under her breath until Sameen accidentally-on-purpose broke her nose with a perfectly aimed soccer ball. Bend it like Beckham. She made the soccer team, too. Worth it on several levels.

As the evening progresses, Shaw finds out that Julia’s parents were both gifted scientists who met while working at MIT. Her father was Venezuelan, her mother, British. She, in turn, is impressed to find out that Shaw speaks four languages. They converse for a bit in Spanish and Shaw teaches her a few words in Farsi. “You know, I could use someone like you on my team…someone who knows the language and _understands_ the technology.”

“Where’s your team headed?”

“Next project is in the Middle East. Several months. Three nuclear facilities.”

It was clear now that whatever Root had been involved in for these past few months was connected to what Dr. Reyes and her team were about to embark on. Shaw now has a legitimate way in that won't raise suspicion and keep her close to Root. She doesn't jump on the opportunity right away, but says she will discuss it with her Department Chair and see if a leave can be arranged. 

They walk back to their rooms which are conveniently adjacent to one another. Shaw is about to say goodnight, sliding her key card into her own door when Julia presses up behind her placing her hands on her hips and putting her mouth close to Shaw’s ear. “You know, I don’t usually confide in people, but you’re different. I feel like I can trust you, Sam. I’d be delighted if you could make this trip with our team.” Shaw could tell her words were sincere even if she felt that her motivations may not have been entirely so. This woman is driven to succeed. And she needs her software to be successful. It needs to go smoothly. It’s also clear what else she’s asking for…something Shaw isn’t sure she can give. Julia kisses her cheek lightly and pushes her hips into Shaw before turning away and heading into her own room. “Goodnight.”

Shaw rests her forehead on the door for a moment. She’s not exactly sure what she’s going to find on the other side – jealous or indifferent Root…or both? But she’s completely sure that Root has seen it all go down. She glances at the hall camera with its accusatory blinking light. It’s going to be a long night one way or another.


	5. Long story short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter...but now you know what's going on in Iran...

“Root?” The hotel room is eerily quiet. Root’s laptop as well as the rest of her belongings are gone. Shaw taps her ear piece, “Root, you there?” There’s a little bit of static and then she hears Harold’s voice.

“Ms. Groves is currently on a flight to Dubai.”

“Finch? This better be a joke.”

“I assure you, Ms. Shaw, I am completely serious,” Finch replies in his usual articulate manner.

“We had a deal, Harold.” Shaw is livid. Back for five days, still being treated for serious injuries, disappears without a word. She shakes her head. Typical Root.

“I did not break my promise. The Machine--”

“I’m going to kill her and _Her_.”

“Maybe now isn’t the best time for me to explain. Clearly, you’re upset.”

“ _Clearly_.” Finch loves to state the obvious. Shaw closes her eyes briefly and forces herself to calm down.  “Go ahead, Harold. I’d love to hear this explanation.”

“What do you know so far?”

 _Nothing_ , she thinks to herself. Being kept in the dark makes her even more angry. At least she has one emotion under control. “None of it, Harold,” she exhales. Things don’t usually get to her, but Root keeping secrets is annoying. They’re supposed to trust each other. At least she thought they did. But they hadn’t been in the same room together for longer than 8 hours for the better part of four months. And prior to that…Samaritan. In between, Root had nursed her back to health, hadn’t left her side. Maybe she missed that a little. At least she’d known Root was safe.

“Do you recall the discovery of the Stuxnet virus?” She hears the excitement in Harold’s voice like he’s about to geek out over some technology shit.

Shaw’s eyes glaze over a bit. “Yeh. 2010. Destroyed a bunch of centrifuges at an Iranian nuclear facility. Rumor was the NSA and Israel’s 8200 were responsible. Nuclear scientists were targeted, too. Car bombs in Tehran.”

There’s a distinct pause on the other end of the line. Shaw rolls her eyes even though no one is on the receiving end of it. “I _was_ Black Ops before the ISA, Harold. We were the people they sent in to clean up the fallout from their fuck-ups. Computer code can only do so much. Still need those human assets to push buttons and pull triggers,” she retorts. “And I had family in the Middle East. My parents…had family…” her voice trails off. Memories of her parents trigger the anomaly known as her feelings. She misses them. “Kind of kept track of that stuff,” she mumbles.

“I am sorry, Ms. Shaw.” He’s thoughtfully quiet for a moment before he clears his throat and continues, “You are correct. The immediate consequence - a few thousand centrifuges were destroyed. The ultimate outcome, however, is quite a different story. The attack only strengthened and solidified Iran’s nuclear program. They quadrupled their number of centrifuges. And in retaliation, targeted our infrastructure and banking systems. The U.S. government refused to step in, leaving the private sector to deal with the fallout and ultimately costing the American people millions. Since then, Iran has successfully built one of the world’s largest cyber armies.”

“What does any of this have to do with Root’s mission?” _Long story short, Harold_ , she thinks.

“Iran has recently developed an AI.”

Shaw nods to herself. It was all making sense now. Another group set on world domination. It would truly never end.

“It hasn’t been unleashed on the world…yet. It’s being further developed at Natanz.”

“Their nuclear facility?”

“Because of the amount of security already built in they’ve expanded it to double as their National Cyber Research and Development Division. Ms. Groves has spent the last several months monitoring and trying to put some safeguards in place. We have an asset inside Natanz and someone working with the IAEA.”

“So that’s where Reyes and her team come into play.”

“Dr. Reyes and her tracking software are just another way in. It’s completely legitimate and won’t raise suspicion. The Iranians must comply with the IAEA and part of that compliance is Dr. Reyes’ RADLOT software. It puts you on the inside, as well.”

“And why exactly can’t _She_ get in there _Herself_ and handle this?”

“As you stated earlier, the Machine still needs agents to ‘push buttons and pull triggers’. Natanz is air gapped. As are all nuclear facilities world-wide. Nothing is connected to the outside world. The only way to get anything in or out is through a human asset. The facility is more secure than ever. For good reason, of course.”

“Great,” Shaw sighs loudly and collapses back on the bed. “How long have you known?”

“Ms. Groves recently informed me. She wanted you to know why she had to leave and she thought I would have _slightly_ better results than she.”

Shaw snorts. Root knew she'd give Harold a chance to explain. “I guess Dr. Javadi needs to get her passport renewed.”

“The Machine will have all of your documents delivered tomorrow. You’ll be ready to fly out with the team in a few days.”

Shaw contemplates this for a moment, “Uh Finch? If you talk to Root, can you, um, let her know that I need to talk to her about something? It’s kind of important.”

“Of course, Ms. Shaw.”

“Thanks, Finch.”


	6. On My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of this is from Root's perspective...and this whole thing was really frustrating even though it's ridiculously short...but I felt like i needed to post it before I ruined it entirely. Ugh.  
> Please...comments welcome.

**_Analog Interface Location: Dubai, United Arab Emirates, 25.2048° N, 55.2708° E_ **

 “Almost finished with that code?” Daniel Casey asks tapping keys on his laptop. “I’m through the firewall and working on the system now.”

Root pauses and gives him a brief, annoyed stare, “Almost.” It’s only the sixth time he’s asked in the last 10 minutes. She would have been done sooner, but she’s a bit distracted to say the least. Her mind is on an angry Persian who probably wants to break something of hers.

“Sorry,” he replies without looking up.

Root hits few more key strokes, reads over her code again and hopes she hasn’t missed anything. “Done,” she declares as she pops in a flash drive, copies the code and tosses it over to Daniel who is perched on the bed.

Daizo stirs from the opposite bed and mutters something almost indecipherable. Root responds in Japanese telling him everything’s ok and to go back to sleep.

She closes her laptop. “Have you got this, Daniel?”

“Yeh, Root. Go to bed. You look exhausted. I’ll only call if it’s serious.”

A sharp pain shoots through her injured hip as she stands, causing her to almost fall back into the chair. She grips the desk and sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. She catches Daniel watching her out of the corner of her eye. She knows he’s worried, but he remains silent.

Once back in her own room, she eases herself down onto the bed. She’s jet-lagged and grimy from her flight. She desperately needs a shower. Needs to change the dressing on her wound. Needs…to talk to Shaw. Harold told her that Shaw was “upset” (understatement of the year), but she understood. She wants to tell Sameen that she’s simply following orders. The Machine warned that providing too much information would change the course of events and would ultimately lead to failure. _She_ insisted that Shaw and Reyes needed to “bond” for the mission to be successful. _She_ was cryptic as to the meaning of this and was silent no matter how many times Root inquired.

Root’s not exactly jealous...but… Tomas…she admits she was anxious about that happening, but only because she was in love and didn’t know where she stood with Shaw. Ultimately, Shaw had chosen her. Her actions telling Root everything she needed to know. She almost laughs at herself. _Honestly, would a one night stand really change how they felt about one another?_ _Eight thousand simulations_ , she reminded herself. To Shaw, it would just be physical anyway. _Separate your feelings._ _Think logically._ But her feelings for Shaw were…unquantifiable. And the idea of Sameen touching someone else…well, she wasn’t sure how she felt about that right now. Still, she wanted Shaw to have the freedom to choose.

 

 ** _Primary Asset Location: Stamford, Connecticut,_** **41°03′10″N** **73°32′20″W**

**_10 months ago_ **

_Alive_. The reality is slowly sinking in. Scenarios and probabilities churn about frenetically in your head. Your mind never stops until exhaustion sets in…and then, it’s like a hard drive crashing. You glance at the screens for what feels like the hundredth time in five minutes. You feel a modicum of comfort from the rhythmic sound of the heart rate monitor. Her heart’s beating, but…she’s…pale. The only contrast…dark smudges under her eyes. And bruises. Too many to count. You gently take her hand in yours. If she were awake, she’d be batting your hands away, scowling at you. You smile a little at the thought. You look down at her wrists, raw from restraints. Your fingers gently brush over torn flesh, stirring your memory. After a particularly rough (really good) night, Sameen would cover them up, but then she’d catch your eye over a cup of coffee during a debrief with Harold, a slight smile playing across her lips. You’d give her a wink…well…your version of a wink…and she’d roll her eyes, shake her head like you just ruined whatever debauchery she was envisioning. You can’t imagine ever being comfortable putting restraints on her again…not after this. A sadness creeps up inside you.

Even though the doctors have been thorough, you need to see for yourself. The needle tracks make you shudder. Shiny pink scars adorn her body. Gunshot wounds courtesy of Martine. Your hands clench at the memory of snapping her neck. You wish you could do it a thousand times over for laying a hand on your girl. As you catalog each mark, you begin plotting your revenge. You imagine wrapping your hands tightly around Greer’s neck and slowly squeezing his last breath out of him. And Samaritan. The only suitable punishment might be a Digi Pet. Something you can hang your keys on and forget to feed. You feel your vengeance pulse through your veins. The Machine is, as usual, monitoring your vitals. _She_ plays a soothing melody in your ear in an attempt to calm you. It doesn't have the intended effect today.

There’s a scar behind Shaw’s ear from some type of intra-cranial surgery. Her brain function appears normal from what the neurologist can determine. Superficial damage, she says. You know she’s in good hands, but still…you’re anxious. You’re firing questions at _Her_ while wearing a path in the rug, much to Harold’s disapproval. The Machine continuously reassures you that Primary Asset Shaw’s physical state is quite adequate and to expect her to regain consciousness within the next 24-hours.

Reese quietly arranges a cot right next to Shaw’s bed in case you finally succumb to your exhaustion. It’s a few hours later when you realize that he’s slipped a sedative into your tea, because suddenly, you can barely hold your head up _._ Everything goes dark.

* * *

 

When Reese visits later that day, Root is (not surprisingly) passed out cold and Shaw’s eyes (surprisingly) are open. She is free of everything but an IV line, keeping her hydrated. Reese gives her a genuine smile. “Hey, Shaw. Welcome back. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got blown up by a roadside bomb in Tikrit and left for dead,” she says in barely a whisper, voice raspy. “Got any water?”

He quickly moves to her bedside and pours her a glass. Boy scout that he is, he attempts to help her sit up to drink it, but she growls at him. Some things never change. Shaw nods toward Root. It’s a wordless inquiry. “Hasn’t slept in three days,” he says. Grinning, he adds, “Slipped her a sedative this morning.” Shaw hands the glass back to him. “She’s as stubborn as you are,” he teases when he’s well out of her reach. She scowls back at him.

Shaw glances in Root’s direction again. “That can’t be comfortable.” Root’s face is smooshed into the pillow, mouth open, a line of drool running down her cheek, feet still planted on the floor. Her back is completely twisted. She looks at Reese. “Can you…?”

“If she tazes me…,” he shoots Shaw a wary look, but obliges her and gently lifts Root’s legs up on the cot and covers her with a blanket, gentleman that he is.

Reese hands her a phone. “I’ll be out in the living room. Just text if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Shaw manages to croak as he’s closing the door behind him.

* * *

 

You stir from your drug induced slumber, groggy and dry-mouthed. Your head is throbbing. Brain, cloudy. You temporarily forget exactly where you are. Not a rare occurrence these days since you’re seldom in the same location with the same identity for longer than 24-hours. You silently curse Reese as you wipe drool from your face with the back of your hand. Your memory suddenly crashes over you like a tidal wave. It’s too quiet. No machines. You are overcome with fear as you hold your breath and slowly look up at the bed next to you.  A pair of dark, shining eyes are watching you.

“You look like shit,” Shaw’s whispers.

A wave of relief floods through you; your chest aches. For once, you have no words…no sarcastic retort, witty comeback or sexual innuendo. You simply stare back. Forever grateful for those eyes looking back at you.

“Take a breath, Root. Your face is turning blue.” Shaw shoots you a small smile, “Guess I finally found a way to render you speechless. Gotta remember for next time.” Her eyes burn into you as you hold her stare, afraid to move, worried it’s a dream.

“I never stopped looking,” you say softly, blinking back tears.

“I know,” Shaw nods slightly, not taking her eyes off you. She holds out a hand to you and you slowly sit up and take it.

 

**_Analog Interface Location: Dubai, United Arab Emirates, 25.2048° N, 55.2708° E_ **

****

Root is startled awake by the sound of her phone. She rubs her eyes, fumbles around until she finds it. It’s Daniel. “What time is it?”

“5:00am,” Daniel yawns into the phone.

“Hit any snags?”

“Nope. Got in, copied the data, left no trace. Your code worked perfectly.”

Root nods to herself. She expected nothing less. “So what’s up?”

“Daizo and I are heading out. Just wanted to check in and make sure we’re still on schedule.”

“ _She_ hasn’t told me otherwise,” Root says groggily, “so we move on to the next phase.”

“Meet you in Tehran tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She’s about to disconnect. “Daniel?”

“Yeh, Root?”

“Be careful.”

“You, too, Root.”

She tosses her phone back onto the bed. Her hip is throbbing. Time for that shower. She peels off her clothes. The wound is red and warm to the touch. Infected. She left her antibiotics back in New York. And maybe she’d sort of forgotten to take them a few times when she was home. _Shaw’s going to kill me if the infection doesn't get me first_ , she thinks. She asks the Machine to find out what meds she needs and to have them delivered then she hits the shower.


	7. I May Be Bad, But I’m Perfectly Good At It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dress: https://www.instagram.com/p/BMfbBLBjDP0/?taken-by=theamyacker&hl=en
> 
> Hope to have another longer flashback chapter up by Thursday.

 

**_Analog Interface Location: Espinas Palace Hotel, Tehran, Iran, 35.7929° N, 51.3563° E_ **

Root carefully slips into a white sequined dress with black trim that opens in a slit just above her knee. It’s tight against her injured hip, but she ignores the pain. Daniel and Daizo stop typing and simultaneously stare as she moves toward them. She nods at Daizo, “Would you mind?” she asks turning and sweeping her hair up so he can zip her dress. Root continues chatting with the Machine as she crosses the room in search of her heels, tilting her head as she puts in an earring. “...A knife will do, I suppose.” Daniel and Daizo exchange a look as she slides a knife into its sheath on her right thigh. “You know I’d prefer a taser, but…there’s no room left in this dress,” she smiles at whatever comment the Machine has made in her ear. At that moment, she wishes Shaw were here to see her in it and…to help her out of it later. She continues the one-sided conversation, “Dr. Hamid Rafati, one of the engineers who designed the latest generation centrifuge, IR-8. Here for a meeting. Luckily, his preference is American women.” She pauses and looks at Daniel. “Do we have access to the cameras?”

Daniel nods in confirmation, “We have eyes throughout the hotel, ears inside his room.” Daizo hands Root a flash drive which she slips down the front of her dress. “Contraband?” Daniel holds out a bottle of scotch. Root snaps it out of his hand and heads for the door. “Don’t wait up, boys.”

***

Root knocks lightly, “Room service.”

Rafati opens the door, “I don’t recall ordering any room service…?”

Root nods slightly, offering a bottle of 25-year-old Bunnahabhain single malt scotch, “Compliments of President Rouhani for service to your country.”

“Well,” Hamid looks at her appraisingly while taking the bottle from her hand. “You know for a Muslim, drinking alcohol is against my religion and, of course, illegal in Iran. It is considered _hudud_ , a crime against God,” he pauses for a moment. “If I’m to commit such a crime, against God and country, I’d prefer it be in the presence of a beautiful woman.” He reaches out and kisses her hand.

 _Smooth. Wonder what your wife would have to say about that_ , Root thinks. “Mmmmm, well, I make an excellent partner in crime. Besides, laws were made to be broken,” she purrs seductively.

An hour later, Hamid is still rambling on about his love of country while sipping his scotch and sliding his hand further up Root’s leg. “…The nuclear deal has opened new prospects for Iran as a tourist destination. People sometimes forget that Iran was one of the oldest tourist destinations, attracting people to its ancient sites before tourism as a concept had really begun to take hold…”

Root’s close to breaking his fingers, when a familiar voice suddenly chimes in her ear, “Working a little _hands-on_ project, Root?”

Daniel cuts in, apologetically, “Um…Shaw was looking for you…”

Root smiles and says under her breath, “Jealous?”

Hamid pauses mid-sentence, “Excuse me?”

“I was just mentioning the fact that I’m _jealous_ of this amazing view. Quite a sunset,” Root says as she removes herself from his grip and walks to window.

He follows her, placing a hand on her lower back as he stands beside her, “Yes, the view is quite stunning,” he replies, staring at her profile as she gazes out the window, “but I promise, the sunrise will be even more exquisite.”

“Oh please. Just shoot him already,” Shaw declares in frustration. “Lamest line I’ve ever heard,” she mumbles under her breath.

Root covers her mouth in a pretend cough concealing her laughter and avoiding the incoming kiss from Hamid. Luckily, the Rohypnol begins to kick in and he stumbles slightly into the window catching himself with his hand.

“Maybe…I’ve had a bit too much,” he apologizes, inspecting his glass.

“Surely someone of your stature can handle his scotch…,” Root leads him back to the couch where he proceeds to pass out cold. “Mmmm…scotch laced with Rohypnol…not so much. You shouldn’t commit crimes against God, Hamid. _She_ doesn’t like it.” She proceeds to hack into his laptop when Shaw suddenly cuts in. “Root? We have a problem. Rafati’s security detail is on their way to his room.”

“They’re not due to check in until eleven.”

“Change of plans, apparently. Maybe they want to read him a bedtime story,” Shaw says dryly.

“Think you can you give me a hand, Shaw?”

“On my way.”

***

The door swings open before Shaw even has a chance to knock. Her eyes sweep over Root and she pauses for a second, _Jesus, that dress…_ but quickly puts the brakes on that train of thought. “Heard you needed help moving a body,” she deadpans.

“I just love group projects, don’t you?”

Shaw just shakes her head. _Such a nerd_.

“I need to get him into bed.”

“Now I’m jealous,” Shaw teases.

Root smiles, but doesn’t comment. Shaw openly flirting is a fairly new thing so she’s not about to ruin it by mocking her. Speaking of jealous, her curiosity suddenly gets the better of her. “So, how’s Dr. Reyes?” she asks as innocently as possible.

Shaw cocks an eyebrow, questioningly. Obviously, it hasn’t been far from Root’s mind this whole time. She _is_ jealous. “It’s a developing situation,” she replies clearly annoyed. “A _completely_ one-sided situation.”

Root breathes a small sigh of relief and lets the topic drop as they arrange him in the bed to make it appear as if things happened after he blacked out. “Gotta make it look convincing.” She pulls a black lace G-string out of her purse and wads it up in his hand. Shaw simply stares at her, mouth ajar. “Don’t worry,” she leans in whispering in her ear, “Those weren't your favorite.” Root turns to be unzipped, holding up her hair. The zipper opens all the way to the base of her spine exposing bare flesh. Shaw lingers for a moment and is about to turn away when Root lets the dress fall down around her ankles. Sameen’s eyes sweep over Root’s naked body and immediately lock on her deeply infected hip wound. “ _Root_ ,” anger in her tone, “I told you-”

Suddenly, there’s a loud knock. “Security check, Dr. Rafati.”

Root ties a robe rather loosely around herself, exposing quite a bit of skin knowing it will adequately distract the men. Shaw clenches her jaw, saving her lecture for a more appropriate moment and hands her a taser, “Just in case.”

Root slips it into the pocket of her robe and grins, “You know me so well.” She musses up her hair for authenticity and then pulls Shaw in for a long, sloppy kiss, adequately smearing her lipstick and leaving them both breathless…and wanting. Root stares at her for a second before Shaw pushes her toward the door, drawing her gun and moving to the closet.


	8. Worth the Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Shaw's recovery...Root's POV

**_Primary Asset location: Upstate New York, safe house, undisclosed site_ **

9 months ago

Shaw’s back for a full week suffering through a painful detox when Samaritan is finally defeated. Against her wishes, Harold moves her to a safe house far from the city so she can focus on her recovery. It makes you breathe easier knowing she’s safe even though she’s furious about it. You check in on her every spare minute you can, which, admittedly, isn't as often as you’d like. Hearing her voice, no matter how irritated she is with you, is somehow calming.

Your parting gift from Samaritan is a bullet wound to the shoulder. You were protecting Harold so it was well worth it, but Sameen won’t be happy about it. She doesn't like it when you get hurt. You know you’re in for a lecture the next time you see her.

There’s tons of work to do in the aftermath, most importantly the Machine needs to be rebuilt, but Harold agrees that you need some recovery as well so you decide to work remotely. When you arrive at the house, you’re quietly pleased. It’s remote, the middle of the Adirondacks somewhere, nestled in the woods and resting on the shore of a lake. As you look around, you realize this must have been the home Harold planned on sharing with Grace at some point. You can’t comprehend the idea of finding the love of your life and denying yourself the opportunity to be together. The idea of being without Sameen...you shake that thought from your head. Not again. You look around and find her asleep on a deck chair next to the pool. You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face. You stand over her swooning like a school girl with a crush.

“You’re blocking my sun, nerd,” Shaw replies without opening her eyes. She’s still talking with her eyes scrunched closed, “Finch gave me a heads up so I wouldn't accidentally shoot you when you tried to surprise me.”

“Harold ruins all my fun,” you playfully thrust out your bottom lip in a mock pout even though Sameen still hasn't opened her eyes.

“For future reference, it’s not advisable to sneak up on someone who’s been locked up and psychologically tortured for the better part of nine months. I definitely would have shot you. And not in the knee.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but someone already beat you to it, sweetie,” you say easing yourself down into the chair next to her.

“What?” she opens her eyes squinting at you skeptically. She tries to sit up quickly, but groans at the searing pain of sudden movement. Her brow furrows deeper as she sees your arm in the sling, shoulder bandaged. “What the hell, Root?” She slowly sits up, using her hand to swing her legs off the chair. “I leave you for a few days and you get yourself shot? Unbelievable.” Shaw motions for you to sit up so she can look at it. “Who took care of this for you?”

“John,” you say removing the sling and gently pulling your sleeve up so she can take a closer look.

“Hmmm. I’ll clean and re-bandage it tonight,” she replies satisfied, laying back in the chair.

She takes care of your shoulder regularly, but other than that has trouble letting you touch her. You don’t push. You know it’s going to take time for her to heal. Greer’s torture has taken its toll on Sameen – physically and mentally. The needles, drugs, surgeries, simulations…she has a lot she’s trying to process and some days she doesn’t even speak to you. The woman with surgical precision and the ability to hit a moving target at a thousand meters can’t even hold a fork without her hand trembling. Shaw has always identified with her physicality. It was the one thing that was a constant when other things were in question. Always able to rely on her body to make her statements, finish her sentences, prove her points…she can’t any longer…at least temporarily. She doesn’t want you to see her this way. The broken parts of her. What she doesn’t understand is that nothing will ever change the way you feel about her. Nothing.

You habitually tilt your good ear in her direction, patiently listening. You hear her crashes, curses and muffled frustrations always ready to go to her if she so much as breaths your name. You’ve been sleeping on the couch just outside her room. It annoys her that you won’t sleep in a bed (there are two other bedrooms she reminds you), but you refuse because you hear her at night. You’ve silently stood in the doorway, listening to her yelling (and sometimes scream) and it truly frightens you. You’ve never heard her cry out like that before…except, well, for other reasons…when you make her…in want, in pleasure, never in terror or pain. A chill runs up your spine when you think about the possible contents of her nightmares. You passively watch her kicking and flailing until she startles herself awake soaked with sweat, heart pounding out of her chest. You want nothing more than to curl up next to her and pull her close to you, but you can’t. Not yet. When she sees you in the doorway patiently waiting, she’ll sometimes ask for a glass of water. Sometimes, sleeping pills. Most of the time though, she’ll quietly, almost apologetically, tell you she’s ok and to go back to sleep.

After a few nights, she decides she wants you to lock up all the guns and hide the key. She’s still afraid she might use it against you even though she spared your life thousands of times. In turn, you’re terrified that she’ll use it against herself.

Most days, the two of you do your own thing. You’re in constant contact with Harold as Shaw works hard to regain her strength and mobility. She’s finally off her crutches, but is sometimes unsteady and you’ll catch her clinging to walls and railings as she moves from room to room. She adheres to a strict workout routine: 6am begins a regimen of stretching and weight training, then swimming, lunch, rest and more training. After dinner, you frequently find her sitting on the dock sipping a glass of Scotch and looking out over the water. She often falls asleep out there. When that happens, you cover her with a blanket and sit quietly beside her until she wakes.

A few weeks later, John arrives with Bear in tow. He’s just checking in he says, looking at you sympathetically. Clearly, he’s been privy to some of the conversations you’ve had with Harold. Bear will help bridge the gap, help her heal. He’s sure of it. The first time you see her smile (other than her first day back) is when Bear jumps on top of her and eagerly licks her face. You hear her laugh and you can’t hold back your tears. You quickly turn away, wiping your eyes discreetly. You begin to think that maybe John’s right.

He spends the evening sitting out on the dock drinking whiskey with Shaw and trading war stories. You leave them, letting Shaw enjoy Reese’s company, something they were rarely able to do in their previous lives working numbers and avoiding Samaritan. Lucky for you, Harold has an enormous library complete with every classic and obscure text you could ever possibly want so you occupy your free time reading Stephen Hawking’s _The Grand Design_.

The next morning, the three (four) of you share a large breakfast before Reese leaves. Shaw happily takes a break from her routine. She slips Bear a slice of bacon, “What happens at the lake house, stays at the lake house. Right, Bear?” Shaw looks at Reese warily as she says this.

“I didn’t see anything, I swear,” Reese holds up his hands as he addresses Bear directly. “Don’t spoil him too much, Shaw. We need you both back in action at some point.”

Shaw only nods at him, while you silently wonder when, realistically, that might be. Shaw spends the rest of the day playing with Bear and swimming laps. You lounge under the umbrella reading your book because (let’s be honest) no amount of sunscreen can save you. And seeing Shaw in a bikini? Totally worth it. You’re so engrossed in your book you don’t realize Shaw has been trying to get your attention until you find yourself doused with pool water. There’s water dripping from your sunglasses. You slowly lower your book (it didn’t escape unharmed, either).

Shaw is staring up at you from the edge of the pool, a smile on her face. “Finally.”

“You’re so dead, Sameen.”

She scoffs at you. “Can you even swim?”

You narrow your eyes and quickly dive in after her. She swims to the deep end to avoid you, but eventually lets you catch her and tentatively pin her against the wall. “Is this ok?”

“Yeh, it is actually,” she says gruffly.

You take it a little further and press your body against hers keeping your eyes on her waiting for any indication of consent or retreat. Your eyes fall to her lips then move back up to her eyes. It’s a question. She’s gives the slightest of nods as she looks down at your lips. Your arms are on either side of her head as you grip the edge of the pool and lean in to kiss her, lightly at first, then more forcefully. It’s long and needy and wet, all tongue and teeth. Sameen bites down on your lip, wraps her arms around you, pulls you in. It’s the first kiss you’ve shared since that day in the Stock Exchange and you don’t realize until now exactly how much you’ve truly missed her. She suddenly places a hand on your sternum and pushes you back. “Ok,” she says breathlessly. “Ok.”

“Sameen?”

“It's...I just…need to stop.” She ducks under your arm and swims to the opposite edge.  Lifting herself out of the pool, she wraps up in a towel and goes inside with Bear close at her heals.

You stare after her, the kiss lingering on your lips, the taste of copper in your mouth. You dab your fingers against your lip, see the blood. You’ve waited almost a year for that kiss. You know there will be more. You know she’s worth the wait.    


	9. Chivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention/indication of possible rape (not detailed)...in case that's a trigger for anyone...

**_Analog Interface Location: Espinas Palace Hotel, Tehran, Iran, 35.7929° N, 51.3563° E_ **

Root greets them at the door, “May I help you, gentlemen?”

“Where is Dr. Rafati?”

“Sleeping off…a…. bit of excitement,” she replies demurely. “I assure you he’s fine.”

“We need to check in. Standard procedure.” They enter the bedroom and find Rafati sound asleep and snoring rather obnoxiously. Both men exchange a look of annoyance. They notice the bottle of Scotch and comment in Farsi while addressing Root in English. The Machine translates for her as they switch back and forth between languages. “Consuming alcohol is illegal in Iran. We’ll need to confiscate this bottle and take you into custody.” The taller of the two says in Farsi, while nodding toward Root, “A shame to let such a fine opportunity to go to waste.”

“No reason we must,” his partner replies in Farsi, cocking an eyebrow, a smile on his face.

It’s as if Root reads her mind, because Shaw is about to open the door and put a bullet in both of them for the insinuation. “Patience, Sameen,” she mumbles under her breath.

“ _Fine_ ,” she responds quietly.

The short one with the lighter complexion tilts his head toward her, “Gather your belongings. You’re coming with us.”

Root knows she needs to play along with them, regardless. They can’t arouse suspicion before they’re able to get into Natanz. And killing two security guards would certainly do just that.

Daniel interrupts Shaw’s train of thought. “We deployed the code. Grab the flash drive as soon as you can, Shaw.”

Shaw whispers affirmatively, “Copy that.”

Root wraps the robe tighter around herself and picks up her dress and shoes as they brusquely escort her by the elbow toward the door.

“All clear, Shaw,” Daniel says as the camera catches them walking down the hall.

Shaw emerges from the closet, grabs the drive and shuts down the laptop doing a quick check to make sure they’ve left no evidence.

“Uh, Shaw?”

“ _Uh,_ _Daniel?_ ” she bites out sarcastically.

“We might have a problem.”

This kid. Get to the point. “ _And?_ ” Before he can get another word out, the Machine redirects her to the conversation between the two guards. Still speaking in Farsi, they’re detailing what they’re about to do to Root. Shaw freezes, narrowing her eyes, “What room, Daniel?”

“Shaw –”

“ _What room, Daniel?”_ her tone sending chills up his spine and making him stutter more than usual.

“Uh…uh…nineteen-seven-six,” he manages to sputter out. “One floor down and to the right of the elevator. It sounds like…it sounds like-”

Shaw knows Root can handle herself, but also knows she’s still recovering from her last endeavor. “Headed there now.”

* * *

 

The two men enter the suite and briefly argue over who’s first. Somehow the taller one wins. He guides Root into the bedroom and shuts the door behind him. Perilous situations don’t scare Root the way they do other people so he’s quite confused by the smile on her face. She bounces down on the bed, casually crossing her legs, while leaning back on her elbows, as if she’s in complete control of the situation. “I require payment upfront, but I’m willing to give you boys a discount. Five thousand for the two of you,” she says, toying with him.

This woman is either naïve or crazy. He laughs out loud. “I don’t think you understand,” he says in English then switches to Farsi, “ _I take what I want._ ” He roughly shoves her down taking the belt from her robe and tying her wrists together tight enough to cut off the blood flow. The robe falls open exposing her bare skin and he looks down at her approvingly, “At least Rafati has good taste.” He kneels, violently shoving his knee between her legs and forcing her tied hands above her head. The taser falls out of her pocket. “What’s this?” he says picking it up and hitting the button, sending a crackle of electricity into the air. “Sadistic little bitch, aren’t you?”

He backhands her across the face splitting her lip and drawing blood. Root licks the blood from her lip, giving him a casual ‘go fuck yourself’ smile. “Is that the best you can do?”

He smirks down at her, “Ahhhh, so you like pain?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Root replies, acerbically.

“Well, if you like it rough I can accommodate that.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can, but you’re not my type.”

He scoffs at her, “ _Really_? Who’s _your type_?”

Root’s smile gets wider as she glances over his shoulder. “She is.”

He half turns to look as Shaw lands a perfect right hook to his jaw sending him reeling sideways and rolling onto the floor. She hits him so hard she thinks she may have broken her hand. She absently shakes it out as she follows up with a punt ( _that one’s good for the extra point, she thinks_ ) to his groin and a kick to the face for good measure – effectively breaking his nose and rendering him bloody and unconscious on the floor. “That’s for her lip, asshole.” Sameen looks down at Root, exposed and bleeding, “You ok?” she asks slightly breathless.

“You’re so hot when you’re being chivalrous.”

Shaw just shakes her head and kneels on the bed lightly, reaching forward to untie her hands.

“Sure you don’t wanna leave this on for later?” Root adds playfully.

Shaw’s exasperated. Root certainly puts the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional. “Ugh, Root. Lemme see,” she gently takes her chin in her hand and uses her thumb to pull Root’s lip down, “No stitches.” Hesitating for a moment, she lets her eyes meet Root’s, “If he’d…,” her voice trails off as she clears her throat and looks away, “I would have put a bullet in him. Regardless of Her plan.”

“She wouldn’t have let that happen,” Root says with complete assurance.

“You showed up at my door half dead last week. I’m not so sure I trust Her decision-making skills these days when it comes to keeping you safe.” She pulls away abruptly. Now isn’t the time. She can never find the right words anyway.

Root blinks rapidly, clearing the excess moisture from her eyes, before quickly changing the subject. “I have an idea on how we can cover this up,” she says as she gestures toward the unconscious guard. “Daniel, Daizo? Can you lend us a hand?” Then she adds, “Wait. Can you bring me some clothes? I’m a little under-dressed for this party.”

When the boys arrive, the four of them drug, strip and place the men in compromising positions together, leaving photographic evidence of a sexual encounter with a note warning them if they should breathe a word about what happened or ever attempt to rape another woman the photos would be made public. “Homosexuality is illegal in Iran. If these photos ever got out they’d be imprisoned. That should keep them from reporting this to the authorities or their superiors. _Or touching another woman against her will ever again_ ,” Root emphasizes, pleased that her devious plan happens to align perfectly with an equally altruistic solution. Who knows how many women they’d previously victimized.

“We’re heading to Natanz tomorrow on schedule. Be ready to go by 7,” Root says as they part ways, each entering a separate suite along the hall. Root waits a few minutes before knocking on the door to the adjoining room. The door swings open. Shaw’s already changed into a t-shirt and shorts, absently rubbing her hand.

Root reaches for her hand, “Need some ice?”

Shaw pulls back, abruptly turning away, “I’m fine.” She retreats into the room and sits down on the bed. “It’s time we had that talk.”


	10. The Future Starts Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I re-watched Relevance while writing this & couldn't get the song out of my head. In particular, these lyrics:
> 
> You can holler, you can wail  
> You can swing, you can flail  
> You can fuck like a broken sail  
> But I'll never give you up  
> If I ever give you up my heart will surely fail
> 
> Comments please!! :D

_**Primary Asset location: Upstate New York, safe house, undisclosed site** _

8 months ago

You are roused from sleep by faint, repetitive sounds coming from the direction of the living room sofa. The same sofa Root has been occupying for the past several weeks like a devoted psych patient. You sit up slowly, holding your breath, listening. Stifled moaning. Now you understand how Root’s been maintaining her…sanity…without any reciprocation from you all this time. You want to give her privacy, but honestly, you’re curious. And…aroused. You can’t go back to sleep. You slip from beneath the covers and hover in the doorway. You know she’s trying to be as quiet as possible, but it’s Root we’re talking about here. Quiet has never been her forte. You hear her breathing quicken, her moans becoming a little louder, sharper. Before you know it, you’re standing over her. Her eyes are squeezed shut, one hand down the front of her pajamas, the other under her t-shirt palming her breast. You’re completely frozen in place, barely breathing, every nerve ending on fire. You want to touch her so badly, but it’s just too much, too soon.

Then…she says your name in a deep exhale as she finishes. _Sameen._ Root opens her eyes and is a little startled to see you standing there. Typically, you enjoy sneaking up on her, but right now, you don’t feel so good about it. But then she smiles, the moonlight giving her face a soft, surreal luminosity. So beautiful. “Hey baby, I was just _thinking_ about you.” She’s not embarrassed. In fact, you watching her get off (while denying yourself) is probably (ok, definitely) a complete turn on for her.

“Pretty animated _thinking_ ,” you reply, raising an eyebrow, a small smirk on your lips.

“You know what they say about idle hands…" 

“I'm not sure anything can keep those hands out of trouble.”

"Just yours," she says, reaching out to you.

You stare down at her, so unsure of yourself. Can’t go back, afraid to move forward. This is your life right now. You tentatively accept her hand. You’ve been avoiding Root since you kissed. The thing is…you _want_ to kiss her and _so much more_. But your body and your brain aren’t on the same page just yet. Things…are out of your control. When it comes to Root, the volume is turned way up. She’s a cacophony inside your head, a chaos inside your body. You know you love her (your version of love). It only took near death for you to admit it to yourself. And now…your lack of ability to show her what you feel…to be close to her…it frustrates you. You think you’re letting her down though she never pressures you. And even though this version of you is so unpredictably broken, she’s made it clear that right now she’s just happy being around you. You don’t understand that concept…but she loves you. And you know, that sometimes, that’s what love looks like.

She gently tugs on your hand cautiously yet encouragingly. _Forward_ , you think. You know you can pull away. Root would understand. But you miss touching her body, making her feel good. You lay down, your faces inches apart. She’s looking at you, head casually resting on her arm, face warm and flushed from her recent activities. You press a little closer against her, feel her heart racing. Root brushes her lips lightly against yours, “I miss you.”

Being this close to another person after months of your body being used against you, it makes you uneasy. You force yourself to focus on your breathing, focus on Root. You rest your head in the crook of your elbow, touch her cheek with your fingertips trying to ground yourself in the present. _Forward._ You never talk about your feelings, but now, you have the urge to say some things to her. Some things you regretted not saying before the Stock Exchange. You owe it to her. To yourself.

“I still don’t feel…comfortable in my skin,” you pause. The smile fades from Root’s face and is quickly replaced with anguish. You know she blames herself for not getting to you sooner. You know it kills her that you’re suffering. But she’s also the reason you’re alive.

“I mean, it’s getting better. But this,” you use your chin to motion between the two of you, “this is hard, but I want it so badly.” You can’t look her in the eye as you correct yourself, “I want _you_ so badly.”

When you were growing up, your parents constantly told you that they loved you. You weren’t exactly sure how you were supposed to feel, but you knew you loved them. You just didn’t know how to express it, so you mimicked it back to them with the conventional responses to give them comfort.

You know you love Root, too, but you don’t need to show her in any conventional way. She doesn’t want you to be anyone other than who you are. She doesn’t judge or expect. She takes whatever you give, in whatever form you give it. You feel like it can’t be enough. It’s not enough. But she makes you feel like it’s the world to her. You experience a range of _feelings_ …more than you knew you could ever have for another person. You want to protect her…and sometimes punch her. You want her around pretty much all the time even though she bugs the shit out of you regularly and intentionally, eats your food, leaves her clothes, dishes and computer crap all over the place and has worse sleeping habits than a teenager. She may also be the most unathletic person you’ve ever met. And she’s such a nerd. And even though she’s a complete pain in your ass (sometimes literally), you look forward to her banter, her teasing, her touch. She’s brilliant and intense, savage and sexy. But there’s still something more…something you can’t define or categorize and you’ve finally come to the realization that you don’t need to.

“I don’t exactly know what love is supposed to feel like…but I know that when I’m with you, I feel…more myself.” You pause for a second, “I feel…like I’m home.” Root is blinking back tears. “And I don’t ever want to know what it’s like not having you around.” You don’t know if those are the right words, but it’s the closest you can get to saying what everyone in the world deems so very important in a relationship, but that Root never expects from you. You’re relieved when she remains silent, because you don’t want to have a conversation or analyze any of this. You just want to be. And she lets you. She leans in and kisses you for what seems like an eternity. This time, it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. When she pulls away finally, you brush a few tears from her cheek with your thumb. For the first time in over a year, you fall asleep next to her, legs intertwined. Sometime in the early morning hours, when you finally stir, you drag her into your bed and go back to sleep.


	11. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally they talk! Comments welcome - they keep me writing!

**_Analog Interface Location: Espinas Palace Hotel, Tehran, Iran, 35.7929° N, 51.3563° E_ **

 

“Take your pants off,” Shaw commands, her back to Root, as she fumbles with something on the dresser.

“Mmmmm, I love the direction this _conversation_ is heading,” Root smiles, unbuttoning her pants.

“You won’t in a minute.” Shaw turns, a syringe full of something and an alcohol swab in her hands. Before Root can object, Shaw swipes her hip with the swab and jams the needle in, forcefully depressing the plunger, her anger clearly getting the better of her.

Root flinches as she gingerly starts pulling her pants back up, looking like a petulant child, “Your bedside manner could use some fine-tuning, Shaw.”

“So I’ve been told.” Shaw recaps the needle and tosses it. “That should help numb the area while I clean it.” She nods toward her pants, “Nope, all the way off. And lay down on your side.” She puts on surgical gloves and picks up a scalpel and some gauze.

“I must admit this little display of dominance is hot, but is sticking me with a needle completely necessary?”

“Only if you want to keep breathing. And I seem to recall you stabbing me in the neck once. Consider this payback,” Shaw challenges, her face getting redder by the second, the veins in her neck, bulging. It’s such turn on for Root, but she knows Shaw’s serious.

“I was just trying to keep you alive, sweetie.”

“Ditto.”

“I do seem to recall you threatening to end me…maybe later you can follow through on that offer,” she teases, a grin spreading across her face, as she casually inspects what’s left of her chipped black polish and masticated fingernails.

“Keep this up and you’ll get your wish, except it won’t be me that ends you…it’ll be sepsis. And trust me, it’s not the _happy ending_ you’re looking for,” Shaw says, voice thick with sarcasm, gesturing to her hip wound. “Now, can you shut up for five seconds and _lay down on your side_?”

“You know, Sameen, if you want me naked and in your bed, all you have to do is ask nicely.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, completely annoyed. _This woman_. “Root. Will. You. Take. Your. Pants. OFF… _Please_.”

Root hesitates, pretending to seriously consider this request until Shaw is clearly ready to throw her down on the bed herself. She acquiesces, “Well, since you asked _so nicely_.”

As Shaw begins cleaning and debriding, she starts talking, finding conversation easier when Root is at least partially incapacitated. “Remember when I said I didn’t ever want to know what it’s like not having you around?”

Root’s closes her eyes momentarily, her face, pale. The injection isn’t helping much judging by her expression. “Mmm, yes,” she says, biting down on her lip.

Shaw can’t tell if she’s on the verge of passing out or throwing up, not that she cares too much at this point. “Well, that’s still the case…except, you’re doing a shitty job of holding up your end of the bargain.”

“Sameen, I can’t help it that the world has suddenly become obsessed with developing artificial intelligences.”

“But you can help by not getting yourself killed,” Shaw growls through clenched teeth, trying to steady her hand as she removes miniscule pieces of skin, dabbing a little harder than necessary with the gauze.

Root flinches, her shirt now damp with perspiration, “Ouch.” The Machine chimes in her ear reminding her that it’s not wise to irritate Primary Asset Shaw while she’s cleaning her wound. _No kidding_ , she thinks, but continues pushing Shaw’s buttons anyway. Root rests two fingers lightly on her pulse point. “Mmmmhmmm…still beating.”

Shaw narrows her eyes, “Smart-ass.”  Shaw stops for a second, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, “Look, I’m just saying that someone needs to have your back on these missions-”

“She does. She takes care of me.”

  “Really?” Shaw stares at her skeptically, “Cause right now, it looks a lot like I’m taking care of you. And what about last week when you showed up at my door half beaten to death? How exactly did she take care of you then?”

Root’s head is resting on her arm. She’s exhausted and doesn’t have the energy to fight with her right now. “She deals in probabilities, Shaw. Nothing can be predicted to 100% accuracy. There are too many variables.”

“Exactly my point.” Her voice softens a bit as she shifts uncomfortably under Root’s gaze, “I’m saying…I’m just saying that I deserve to be one of those variables, Root.”

“Worried about me, sweetie?” a snarky grin on her face.

“Yes,” she replies firmly. Angry with herself for admitting it out loud.

It surprises Root to hear Sameen openly admit concern. At the very least, she expects sarcasm and mild irritation. Root feels a tight pull inside her chest. She averts her gaze, wiping the smile from her face. Sameen would be furious if she knew Root’s been purposely keeping her out of this until now, that she’s nearly gotten herself killed just so Shaw wouldn’t get hurt again. Root only reluctantly agreed to bring her into this after the Machine provided the probability of failure without her. And Dr. Reyes’ involvement had been unexpected. Root’s still uncertain about her connection…victim or perpetrator? The Machine is silent on the matter, only indicating that Shaw stay _close_ to her which makes her undeniably jealous. “Well, you’ve gotten your wish,” Root concedes.

“Not entirely.”

Root turns her head slightly, raising her eyebrows as Shaw points a gloved finger at her. “No more stupid risks. No more solo bullshit. _Promise_.”

“Sameen-”

“Promise me, Root.”

 “Ok,” she nods finally, but only because she and the Machine already have a deal. She protects Shaw first. No exceptions.

Shaw finishes in silence and as she moves to cover her up, Root touches her arm, “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Yeah, sure Root.” Shaw takes her time cleaning up, getting a few things in order for the next day, then quietly slides in next to Root trying not to wake her.

Root stirs at the movement and presses herself up against Sameen's back, curling a hand around her waist, palming her stomach, exploring. “I think a proper expression of my gratitude is in order,” Root breathes into Shaw’s neck sending a chill up her spine.


	12. The Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Shaw & Root get down to it. There's a sex debt involved. Just all mush.

_**Asset location: Upstate New York, safe house, undisclosed site** _

7 months ago

It’s few weeks later and you’ve fallen into a new routine. You share your bed with Root every night, eat meals together and she even hangs out while you swim. The only time you’re not together is on your morning run. Root doesn’t run. Unless being chased by someone with a gun and even then, she prefers to take her chances. You should be annoyed that she’s always around, but you secretly enjoy it. Although she’s often on her laptop while simultaneously on conference calls with Finch, nothing you do escapes her. That’s probably what you both love and hate about Root…she picks up on everything (even without an AI in her ear) even when you think she’s completely focused on something else. It’s her way of taking care of you.

Root’s back to her usual teasing and flirting nonstop and you can’t keep your hands off her. You roughly shove her against kitchen counters, doorways, dressers and walls…locking her into long kisses, running your hands under her shirt, down her pants, touching her everywhere. It’s your way of teasing and flirting which basically leaves Root a complete wreck, after which, she has no choice but to excuse herself and finish what you started. You’re not quite ready for that last step, but you’re hoping the final piece will click into place soon or Root might just have a breakdown of her own.

One night, Root rolls over to face you, pulling you into a kiss. Her pupils are completely blown and you know she doesn’t want to stop at kissing and shameless groping tonight. “When are we gonna christen Harold’s bed?” she giggles into your neck, pulling at your earlobe with her teeth.

“Ugh…you’re totally the killing mood. Please don’t mention Finch in any situation that may involve sex if you ever hope to get laid again, Root.”

She’s still giggling as you slide your hand down her stomach, brushing your fingertips lightly over her belly. You pull her shirt up and press your lips into her flesh, gently sucking, licking. A few little nips and she’s squirming beneath you. Usually, Root calls the shots in bed. You’ve never had a problem with that. You prefer it actually. It’s incredibly hot. But now, she relinquishes her power to you, because she knows you need to be in control. You spent too much time restrained, on your back, powerless. If the idea even creeps into your head, you freeze up, shut down. She knows it. And though you reveal little with your facial expressions and blank stares, she somehow reads your minute idiosyncrasies. She knows the triggers. She knows you.

You run your tongue over her belly button, roll her onto her back and straddle her hips. You grab her wrists and force them over her head, pinning her legs down with your feet. She fights back, trying to reclaim some autonomy. She doesn’t want to submit completely. That’s no fun for either of you.

You squeeze her wrists harder. Your strength is back and she can’t push you off. You read her face. She’s assessing the situation, trying to find some leverage, catch you off guard. You raise your eyebrows at her, “Don’t even think about it, Root.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll kick your ass and you know it.”

“Don’t tease, baby,” a sly smile forms on her face as she looks up at you and simultaneously relaxes beneath you.

You dip down and bite her neck. She arches into you, a soft moan in your ear. You trace her earlobe with your tongue, pressing it inside her ear. She shivers. You leave small bruises along her neck, her delicate collarbone. You press your thumbs into her forearms as you rest the weight of your body onto hers. You feel all of her beneath you. You breathe her in. All uniquely Root. It’s stirs your memory. It makes you want to rush, but you force yourself to move slowly, deliberately, reacquaint yourself with Root’s body…her long limbs, sinewy muscle, soft flesh, slender frame.

At first glance, Root appears fragile, harmless. But you know she’s quite the opposite. When she chooses her target, she devastates. The way she wields her strength when she needs to, it astounds you. She can crush you effortlessly, often leaving you breathless and wanting. When you look down at her, you know she’s waiting for that opportunity once again.

You release her arms, sitting back on your knees and pushing her shirt up, teasingly rolling her nipple between your fingers. She writhes and fights you a little, giving you a reciprocating pinch. You lean in and suck her nipple into your mouth, sinking your teeth in as you push a hand down between her legs, lightly brushing over her as she tries to grind against you. You hold her nipple between your teeth biting harder the more she moves until she finally stills.

You put your mouth back on hers and when you part, Root is looking up at you, almost adoringly, a slight smile on her lips, desire in her dark brown eyes. You shake your head as you try to pull back, but she doesn’t let you get away, wrapping her arms around you and bringing you down to her, kissing you. There is no rush. She holds you there, running her hands up your sides, similar to the gesture she uses on your forearms…as if she’s trying to warm you up or something. You can’t help but smile and feel a little like a dorky teenager. You rub your fingers lightly on the sides of her clitoris. “Oh,” she breathes into your mouth. You feel how wet she is. You massage her, kiss her, pushing your tongue into her mouth, gently rocking, slowly, agonizingly slowly. Her face is flushed, her body is getting warmer and wetter the more you move against her. Your touch is light, but then you build up the speed and intensity. She’s moaning. You look down at her face, her eyes are squeezed shut, tears rolling down the sides of her cheeks. It’s a slow build, long and intense. Her muscles are tense, legs wrapped around you. She’s breathing hard and finally cries out as she comes. Her entire body shudders as she presses against you. An unspoken relief. Finally, she has you back completely.

You’re not quite done, though. You kiss her again, then lick a pathway down her body, lingering a bit on her nipples, leaving your marks on her. You hear her laugh as she runs her hands through your hair. Finally, alive. Finally, feeling. Finally, yours. You kiss the soft part of her stomach…the sole part of her body that has a minutia of fat on it…This is your favorite part of her body…other than the obvious. You kiss the tops of her thighs, then just inside…the soft, sensitive part near her vagina. She’s ticklish here when you use your tongue. You move your mouth onto her clitoris, sucking, licking, then driving your tongue into her. She’s swollen and slick and ready for you. It doesn’t take long until she’s grinding against you. You push into her, grabbing her by the hips, getting into a rhythm as you fuck her. It’s faster. Root’s more demanding this time. She collapses onto her back as she finishes. She’s out of breath, sweaty and super sensitive to your touch. You’re completely willing to go again, but she pushes you away, shaking, overstimulated.

“Really?” you say with mock surprise, a smile playing across your face.

She shoves your shoulder playfully, shyly, and rolls onto her side, putting a hand between her legs. “Just a warm-up. We’ve got all night, Shaw.”

“Well, I’m ready as soon as you think you can move again. It’s been a year and you owe me…let’s see…roughly a thousand orgasms by now.”

“How’d you come up with that number?”

“Mmmm…well, conservatively speaking, three a day multiplied by the number of days without your tongue on me.”

She smiles back at you. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll promise I’ll gladly start paying off my sex debt.” She wink-fails and you roll your eyes, but smile anyway.

* * *

 

Pine needles cushion your stride as you run one of the endless trails near the lake house. Running helps you process, balance your fractured mental state, clear your head. Even without the humidity, sweat streams down your face and neck, soaking your shirt. You absently swipe at it with the back of your hand. Everything aches a little more than it used to, but you’re grateful for the pain. Pain means you’re alive. You feel like yourself finally. You sprint the last 200 meters and then walk it off, stretching intermittently until you catch your breath. Seven miles. Progress.

When you return to the house, it’s unusually quiet. You don’t expect Root to be up. You’re pretty sure you wore her out last night so you quietly go about your morning routine, heading for the kitchen for a drink before grabbing a shower. In the kitchen, you find a handwritten note and a set of car keys.

_Had to run to Boston for a few days, but I left you a little something to keep you occupied until I get back!_

You feel slightly disappointed that Root’s gone. You’ve been thinking about her all morning hoping to put a significant dent in your ‘sexcapades’ today. The note has a little winking smiley face on it. You openly groan. And then smile at the fact that she fails at winking in real life.

You walk out to the garage. She obviously knew she was leaving last night. No way she snuck this in under your nose. The gift is pretty fucking sweet. The car keys belong to a black Maserati GranTurismo Sport with a tank full of gas, a trunk full of weapons and the name of private training ground and gun range run by a former Ranger. There’s another note on the steering wheel:

_Pack your bags, sweetie. I booked a week of camp for you!_

You give Bear a sideways glance, “What I am ten? And what about you, buddy?” You find another note under the first.

_P.S. Training for Bear, too, of course.  No scratches on the Maserati. It’s leased under Harold’s name. Don’t tell!_

Another winking smiley face. You shake your head, slightly insulted that she would even think you’d put a scratch on this baby. But really, this is the coolest gift anyone’s ever given you. The thought of wrapping your hands around the leather steering wheel of such a hot car gives you an adrenaline rush. _And getting to shoot things_ …Now you _do_ feel like a ten-year-old because you can’t keep the smile off your face. You really wish Root were here so you could thank her properly. Desire washes over you, the feeling you used to get when you thought of Root. The panic and claustrophobia are gone.

The week passes in a blur. You shoot a range of weapons, tighten up your sniper skills (your hands no longer shake), complete the training course - improving your time a little each day, and work with Bear and a military dog trainer. When you have down time, you take the car out on back roads and highways to test its limits. You have a great week and can’t wait to tell Root about it.

You’re back for a few days, but you still haven’t heard from Root, so you call Reese instead and brag. He’s jealous. The next day after your run, you decide on a swim before breakfast. Dropping your shirt on the pool deck, you dive in, sports bra and shorts, cold water refreshing your sore body. As you complete a lap, you turn your head slightly and catch a glimpse of that familiar figure sitting on the edge, legs dangling in the water.

You swim over, wrapping your hands around her ankles, “Hey.”

“Hey, baby.” She’s looking down at you, hair cascading around her face, the sun catching in the just the right way making it look golden around the edges. You’ve never seen anyone more beautiful. A surge of desire runs through you. You pull yourself up, halfway out of the water, putting your mouth on hers, splashing water everywhere. She giggles, pleasantly surprised. “You’re getting me _all_ _wet_ ,” she whispers into your ear sending a shudder through you.

“Not wet enough,” you smirk, raising your eyebrows. In one swift movement, you put one arm around her and effectively pull her in with you. For a split second, you think she might punch you, but she presses herself closer and squeezes your ass, letting you know she’s not mad.

“All that running’s paying off,” she says kissing you and tugging at your shorts. “I think we’re down to...nine hundred ninety-five? Let’s _knock a few out_ before we go back to New York tonight.”


	13. Eyes Closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight re-write as of 11/13. Wasn't happy with Root's intention/Shaw's interpretation...didn't feel like it was true to character. Hoping this is better.
> 
> Also...  
> Root as a Pawn:  
> "Pawns represent ordinary men and women attempting to move across the board of life toward eventual initiation into union with the divine. The pawn utilizes only the simplest interactions with other pieces and does not recognize the divine forces behind its life. It only moves one step at a time. Always forward, never backward. It can move either straight ahead when challenged, or diagonally, showing that it can utilize the head or heart in it's progress. If the pawn gets far enough to triumph over life's trials and adventures, to the eighth square of the opposing side, it achieves a higher state. At this point it can transform into any piece is desires. Usually the pawn is made a queen and thus becomes a co-creator."

**_Primary Asset & Analog Interface Location: Espinas Palace Hotel, Tehran, Iran, 35.7929° N, 51.3563° E_ **

Shaw puts her hand on Root’s forearm, pulling her closer. “How about you start by telling me what happened?”

Root’s surprised by Shaw’s sudden intimacy considering her earlier rage. “Interesting choice of verbal foreplay topics, Sameen,” Root replies as she gingerly presses her body against Shaw’s back, cautious of her injured hip, placing a kiss behind her ear. “But right now, I’ve got so many more _stimulating_ topics I’d like to explore.” Root was hoping Shaw wouldn’t press the issue, because she won’t lie to her. But Shaw has a sixth sense when it comes to Root. It’s virtually impossible to hide anything from her.

“The only topic I’m interested in right now is what you’re keeping from me.” Shaw gently raises Root’s arm, carefully turning over so they’re facing each other. Root realizes there’s no escaping this conversation, but that doesn’t mean she can’t distract her. She takes advantage of their proximity, leaning in and kissing Shaw’s lips, exploring with her tongue, sucking in her breath. Shaw opens to her completely, placing a hand on the back of Root’s neck. The kiss lasts for a few minutes until Shaw abruptly pulls away. They’re both flushed and breathless. Shaw looks directly into Root’s eyes, a level of intimacy that she doesn’t often feel comfortable with even after all this time, “Root…” she pauses looking past her, not entirely sure how to pose her questions, but knowing she needs answers. Shaw disengages, creating a gap between them. Root knows too much physical and emotional intimacy can be overwhelming for her. “Please.”

The look of genuine surprise on Root’s face is apparent. Shaw scoffs and rolls her eyes at her reaction. ‘Please’ is not a word uttered from the lips of Sameen Shaw all too often. In fact, the last time Root heard it was right before she shoved a needle into her neck, but this time her plea isn’t to manipulate. She’s just asking for transparency. Root rolls onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. Her brain evaluating a thousand scenarios desperately seeking one where Shaw doesn’t walk out at the end of the conversation. The option eludes her. The Machine murmurs in her ear that this was inevitable considering the path she chose. Irritated, she shuts off her implant. Root is suddenly exhausted. The weight of her deception wearing her down as much as the mission itself. This void that she’s created between the two of them seems impossibly vast and irrevocable. She relents. “I was in the process of collecting information on the Natanz facility…security personnel, schedules, schematics…when I was compromised. Iraqi National Intelligence Agents.”

“ _She_ didn’t warn you?” Shaw interrupts, anger in her tone. This revelation is surprising to Shaw for two reasons. The first being that Root is one of the best hackers in the world; and, second, she has an all-powerful AI looking over her shoulder. Shaw’s not sure how she possibly could have been located, but she doesn’t like the sound of it.

Root shakes her head, “I don’t know what happened…She doesn’t know. It’s likely their AI is already online.”

“Doesn’t exactly make me feel better about our current situation,” Shaw frowns.

“Surprisingly, the agents were immune to my powers of seduction,” Root jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.

“ _And?”_ Shaw’s not amused.

“They didn’t exactly _appreciate_ my noncommittal answers to their inquiries as you well know,” she vaguely gestures to her body.

The scene flashes through Shaw’s mind…she pushes it from her thoughts. “How’d you get away?”

“Daniel. He got there…right before…,” Root stutters a bit. She doesn’t mean to reveal that last fact, but it slips out. Shaw fills in the blank.

“Right before they almost killed you,” Shaw finishes, in a flat, detached voice. She pictures a gun pointed at Root’s head. An unknown man pulling the trigger. She can’t help but feel it’s all but inevitable the way Root lives her life. Blind trust in an imperfect system.

Root’s silent for a moment, Sameen’s words sinking in, the realization of what would have happened if Daniel hadn’t been there. The weight of her decisions, mistakes, suddenly feel as if they’re crushing her. She has one last revelation that she owes Shaw, but the words are caught in her throat. She can’t look at her, but takes her hand instead, intertwining their fingers and resting it on her chest while still staring up at nothing in particular. “When you said you deserved to be a variable…,” Root doesn’t wait for Shaw to respond. “You were supposed to be. With me. I ignored Her directive…I... couldn’t…. I…didn’t want....”

“Didn’t want me to get hurt.” Shaw’s very matter-of-fact in her response. She understands Root’s motivation, her need to be protective, her guilt, but rage still boils up inside her. “And now? What’s changed?” she says through gritted teeth, yanking her hand away abruptly.

“Our highest probability of success requires you be involved.”

“You still don’t want me here.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Root silently shakes her head, guiltily, unable to look at her. Before Root found the Machine, she moved through life ruthlessly with no regard for anyone or anything. The Machine taught her to value human life. _She_ put Shaw directly in her path. And now that Root knows what love is, she won’t accept a life without it. For Root, Shaw is her reason to fight. The world would be nothing without her in it. Root’s voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t lose you, Shaw. I won’t survive it.”

“But it’s ok if _I lose_ _you_ , Root?”

Sameen’s words hit her hard, sending her heart racing, a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach. Shaw loves her, undoubtedly, completely. But Root also knows, when it comes to this love, she feels as if she’s made of glass. Shaw, of steel. Shaw’s a doctor, a soldier. She’s well versed in death. Root’s never wanted to face the consequences of her actions, the effect they would ultimately have on Shaw. She’s always thought herself as the lesser of them all...a pawn in Her game willing to make the necessary sacrifices…not the King (Finch), nor the Queen (The Machine), not the honorable Knight (Shaw). Not worthy of love and forgiveness, she’ll gladly give her life in place of Shaw’s.

“You think it would…hurt me less…?” A hint of disappointment across Shaw’s face.

Root’s chest burns. A few tears escape the corners of her eyes, “No.” She quietly shakes her head, wiping her tears. “That’s not what-”

Suddenly, the phone rings, shattering the tension in the room. It’s Reyes. She gleans from Shaw’s tone and one-sided conversation that Reyes is calling a team meeting. Shaw gets dressed, grabs her room key, pausing momentarily to look back at Root, “You should go.”

 


	14. Closet Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very short...but significant  
> I borrowed an idea/line from someone but not sure who (maybe kesdax?) - the way Root has a smile just for Shaw: "a smile spreads across her face…the one that reaches her eyes, the one that she reserves just for you."

_**Primary Asset Location: Manhattan/Queens, New York** _

6 months ago

Once back in New York, Root hands you a set of keys and punches the address of your new apartment into the car’s GPS. She gives you a quick kiss, saying she’s got ‘errands’ and that she’ll ‘most likely’ see you later. “Most likely?” you raise your eyebrows at her and give her an unsatisfactory frown. She shrugs you off not willing to elaborate on her errands or her loose promise. You grumble to yourself as you surreptitiously watch her walking away in your side mirror.

Your new place is in Queens near Astoria Park. Convenient for many reasons Root says…taking Bear for walks, running in the park, great restaurants, close enough to Manhattan, a view of the East River…you basically stopped caring after she said, ‘great restaurants.’ Whatever. All you need is a bed. Ever since you entered the military you’ve basically been a nomad, never staying in one location for longer than a year anyway.

You push the door open with the toe of your boot, dropping your duffle, tossing your jacket over the closest chair, keys on the kitchen counter. It’s fully furnished and has a beautiful view of the river. Even the bed is amazing. You lay down on it as you text Root.

<<Can’t afford this

<<I convinced Harold to give you a raise ;)

You shake your head and toss your phone onto the nightstand. Not even going to bother to fight it. You close your eyes for a moment thinking about Root as you drift off.

You’re roused by something that feels like a wet piece of sand paper against your cheek. You blink and realize Bear is practically drooling all over you. “Hey buddy,” you sit up scratching behind his ears. “You staying over tonight?” you ask him, playfully.

“Only if you want me to,” Root replies as she saunters into the bedroom, a smug little smile on her face knowing you weren’t talking to her, but using the opening to her advantage.

You roll your eyes, taking her down a notch as you say, “I was talking to _the dog_.” Root’s face falls, but lights up again as you add, “But I guess you can stay, too…if you want.” You get up heading toward the bathroom intending on a shower. You’re about to step under the scalding water, when you do a double take and notice the sink is already supplied with not one, but two toothbrushes. You reach for the medicine cabinet… her sleeping pills, deodorant, floss… In the vanity...soap, lotion, eyeliner, mascara, perfume, her favorite shade of lipstick, bubble bath… _Bubble bath?_ You leave the shower running and wrap yourself in a robe. You check one closet. Your Marines t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, a few of your guns…you nod appreciatively. You check the other closet which, theoretically, should be empty since this is supposedly your apartment…black leather jacket, t-shirts, jeans, a few dresses, shoes…lots of shoes… Sure, Root slept over quite a bit prior to the Stock Exchange, but the most she kept at your place was stuff she’d left by accident or sometimes on purpose because she knew you liked certain _reminders_. Inexplicably, an uncontrollable anger rises up inside of you like a tidal wave. “Root!”

She appears in the bedroom doorway, pretending not to notice your annoyance.

“What’s this?”

“A closet?”

You growl at her and she shrugs back at you nonchalantly, “Just a few _incidentals_ …thought it would be easier...” The wave crashes as you catch the wounded look in her eyes and realize you’ve hurt her. She quickly recovers brushing past you and reaching for her clothes. You fucked up. It’s not like you don’t want Root here, but you kind of wish it had been you asking her, which you would have been doing by tomorrow anyway. “I would’ve asked you, Root. It’s just…you know, sometimes…I need my space.”

“I know,” Root nods, unable to look at you as she begins to gather up some of her clothes. Root typically respects your boundaries and makes sure to discuss things with you before major changes, so this is out-of-character even for her. There’s something slightly unsettling about it, but you can’t quite put your finger out on it.

You reach for her forearm and slowly take the hangers from her hand, putting them back. Your way of apologizing. “Keep your stuff here. And when you’re in New York…you stay here.” You know that Root will give you space when you need it. You know deep down you want her here.  

You see her visibly relax, a smile spreads across her face…the one that reaches her eyes, the one that she reserves just for you. She leans into you, pushing you against the closet door, tucking her face into your neck, kissing you (her way of thanking you which you’re not at all opposed to) sending chills up your spine and heat down your body like the tremors before an earthquake. She abruptly moves away, leaving a kiss lingering on your lips. “You should shower. Dinner’s almost here.” You watch her leave, shaking your head and trying process was just happened.


	15. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root's POV
> 
> Your comments keep me writing so don't hesitate to leave one...good or bad!  
> Ideas help!

**_Analog Interface Location: Queens, New York_ **

**5 months ago**

The morning sunlight peaks in the bedroom window, dancing across Sameen’s shoulders, giving her skin a golden glow. Her hair is loose, splayed across the pillow, her face turned toward you. Her body is tangled haphazardly amongst the sheets, one tan, muscular leg exposed. She is so breathtakingly beautiful you have to restrain yourself from reaching out to her. Sameen’s made it clear, though, that there are only two acceptable reasons to wake her…food or sex. And since you don’t have a sandwich and you’re still sore and exhausted from last night’s activities, you resort to simple observation, head on your forearm, listening to her breathing, reassured. As you watch her sleep, you absorb every detail, committing it to memory so that later when everything falls apart, as you know it will, you can replay it when you so desperately need to. 

You know that time is coming all too soon. She’s sending you to the Middle East. There’s a rival AI about to make its debut and things won’t go well if it goes online. It frustrates you because you just got Sameen back. Granted, it’s been several months and you’ve been by her side constantly, but it hasn’t been until recently that you’ve truly _reconnected_. She still has bad days and even more bad nights than you’d care to count. Hearing her scream in her sleep…it’s something you’ll never get used to. You have the most powerful being in the world guiding you, giving you the ability to do anything, but in this, you are powerless. Time is the only thing that will help, but it’s a scarce commodity in your world. And you want every last second with her. For the remaining weeks that you have, you can only bear witness and attempt to comfort someone who refuses to be comforted. When you leave, you know you’ll be breaking an unspoken promise to Sameen. Opening yourself to love has simultaneously opened a floodgate to pain…opposite sides of the same coin, coexisting within you, pulling you under like a riptide. And every time you witness Sameen’s suffering, the reality of your past washes over you. You often wonder if the Machine’s silence after Sameen’s disappearance was as a lesson for you, like Cyrus Wells. Did she exacerbate your anguish so you would fully comprehend the magnitude of your crimes? She’s taken a great deal of interest in trying to correct your code, but you know it will take more than a lifetime of saving people to wipe the blood from your hands.

The Machine wants Shaw to accompany you on this mission, but you refuse. _Your odds of survival are significantly lower without her_ , She reminds you. _But her odds of survival are significantly higher if she stays in New York_ , you remind her. _Besides,_ _she’s still recovering. I’m not putting her through more trauma right now._ You and the Machine continuously debate probabilities, statistics, but you won’t be dissuaded. _I can’t lose her_ , you explain. _You are willing to sacrifice yourself instead?_ She asks. _Absolutely._ Because losing Sameen would break you. And losing yourself would simply be redemption.

You impulsively moved your things into Shaw’s new apartment without discussing it with her first. Her immediate reaction was anger (as you knew it would be), but when she saw the look in your eyes, she abruptly changed her mind without pushing you for an explanation. You know she would have eventually asked you to move in with her, but you don’t have the luxury of time. Even though you don’t believe in white picket fences, perfect lives and happy endings, part of you wanted to know what it would be like…even for a short time…what it would be like to truly share your life with Sameen.

Occupying the same square footage on a regular basis is messy. Your relationship is made up of moments of adrenaline pumping intensity and sheer mind-numbing boredom. You learn each other’s habits, drive each other crazy…well, maybe it’s more of you driving Sameen crazy…but you like to think it’s in a good way. You get on each other’s nerves, get into heated fights over petty things and then have incredibly hot make-up sex. The two of you together are perfectly misaligned, organized chaos. It feels like being in on a secret…you finally understand what you've been missing. But you still can’t ignore what’s coming. It creeps into your thoughts at unexpected moments. Sameen knows something’s wrong, but she doesn't ask. She’ll wait until you’re ready. But you have no plans to share this with her, because if you do, you’ll tell her the truth. And you know she won’t let you go alone.

You stir from your thoughts and decide you can no longer keep your hands off of Sameen. You shift your body closer to hers, invading her space. There’s a mischievous grin on your face as you quietly slide your hand beneath the sheets and down her warm stomach. You wait breathlessly for a reaction. She shivers at your touch. Her eyes are scrunched closed, a slight frown materializes as she realizes she’s being roused from her slumber. Then slowly, a sense of recognition on her face as you push your fingers between her legs. She relaxes, flush with sudden desire. She licks her lips, still refusing to open her eyes. “Root,” she murmurs, rolling onto her back, opening herself to you completely. You’re touch is light, teasing. You don’t want it fast and rough…you’re still so tired, you just want a soft, slow burn. You want time to stand still.


	16. Compliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's never any knowing which of our actions, which of our idlenesses won't have things hanging on it forever." - E.M. Forster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeh, I know these chapters are short, but I just want to keep it going and try to spend less time between postings!  
> Love it or hate it...tell me about it.
> 
> Re-wrote a couple lines since first posted.

**_Asset Location: Espinas Palace Hotel, Tehran, Iran, 35.7929° N, 51.3563° E_ **

As Shaw enters the room, one of Reyes’ assistants runs a scanner over her body searching for bugs. “Cell phone?”

“Left it in my room as instructed. Paranoid much? Thought this was a peaceful mission.”

Reyes is casually leaning against the dresser, arms crossed, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of worn out blue jeans. Her hair hangs loose down around her shoulders and she’s wearing glasses. It’s a good look for her, but Shaw can’t help but be reminded of Root.

Her crew is scattered about the room, attentive. It’s clear she’s well-respected. “Compliance doesn’t always mean peaceful. We take precautions,” she says as she offers Shaw a bottle of water, brushing her fingers as Shaw takes it from her, eyes sweeping over her. Shaw pretends not to notice. Reyes starts laying out the schedule and objectives for the week, who to expect and where they should take precautions. “The drive will be a little over three hours. Helmets, vests and proper uniform indicating we’re working with the IAEA. We will be escorted by a highly armed, highly trained security team, but you never know.” Reyes stops and nods toward Shaw. “Dr. Javadi…speaks Farsi and is familiar with Iranian custom. Everything should go smoothly, but be aware of your surroundings at all times.” Reyes covers some of the more technical aspects of how the installations will be handled. There are a few individual discussions before the meeting adjourns and everyone starts to file out, Shaw included. Dr. Reyes touches Shaw’s arm. “If you could…stay for a minute.” Reyes speaks with her lead programmer briefly, closing the door behind her as she leaves.

“You wanted to talk?” Shaw raises her eyebrows in question.

“I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to come along. It helps having someone with your skill set on board in a potentially tumultuous situation.” Reyes pulls a bottle of Scotch from her bag. “Contraband,” she smiles, pouring two tumblers, offering Shaw a glass. Shaw doesn’t hesitate. She could use a drink right now. Can’t get Root off her mind, even with a gorgeous woman standing in front of her. Shaw swallows the Scotch quickly, trying to avoid the conversation…or lack thereof…that’s about to happen. Reyes reaches for the glass, wrapping her fingers around Shaw’s as she removes it from her hand. She pushes Shaw back against the dresser, tilting her head down slightly, pressing her lips to her neck. Reyes kisses her lightly on the lips, exploring, questioning. Shaw’s momentarily frozen in place, then, she gradually begins to reciprocate. Reyes is pulling at her clothes, pushing her down on the bed. Shaw’s letting her lead, but her head is spinning in different directions. All of them leading back to Root. _This is just sex_ , she tries to convince herself. _It’s meaningless. To me. But not Root. It will matter to her_. _Even if she says it doesn’t._ She’s so angry with Root for so many things right now, but every second still feels like a betrayal. A few years ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but now… Reyes’ hands are slowly undoing each button, kissing her collar bone, sliding her hands beneath her bra. Shaw closes her eyes…the only person she sees and feels is Root. Fuck. She flips Reyes onto her back, traces the edge of her ear with her tongue, hoping this is convincing enough before she bails. “I know this is bad timing, but I need a rain check.” Shaw sits up, running a hand through her hair, distractedly. Reyes sits up behind her, sliding her hand around her stomach, sending chills up Shaw’s spine. “Ex-girlfriend?”

“Something like that,” Shaw replies, pulls her shirt closed, starts to button it up.

“Well, don’t waste too much time feeling guilty. I promise you I’m worth it.” She pours herself another drink as Shaw lets herself out.

Root’s sitting on her bed, laptop in hand. She gets up as she hears Shaw enter, positions herself in the entryway between the two rooms, a self-imposed limbo. She’s hoping Shaw will give her a chance to explain herself. Root’s affect changes in an instant as her eyes catch Shaw’s flushed face and disheveled appearance. There’s a brief flash of pain as she silently steps forward, wiping the smudge of lipstick from Shaw’s cheek with her thumb. As she withdraws her hand, Shaw grabs it, looking directly in her eyes, challenging Root to question her. _Ask me_ , she thinks, angrily. _Eight thousand simulations…how can you doubt me?_   The Machine put her in this situation. Root pushed her toward this woman in New York. She’s just trying to do her job. In the past, fucking Reyes wouldn’t have been a problem. She would have enjoyed it. But now, Root is at the forefront of all of her decisions. She knows it’s ineffective, not to mention dangerous, but she can’t turn these feelings off no matter how hard she tries. Rage is boiling up inside her so she quickly releases Root’s hand and walks to the far side of the room, putting as much space between the two of them as possible. She doesn’t want to hurt her. “What do you want me to do, Root?” Shaw asks quietly, head down, unable to face her.

“What She needs you to do,” Root replies, detached. “Stop this AI,” Root pauses before adding, “And that means staying as close to Reyes as necessary. She needs you inside Natanz with her team.”

Shaw doesn’t respond, but when she looks back at Root she’s already retreating back into her room closing the door behind her.


	17. In love, In war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flash back...Shaw's POV. 
> 
> Added a little bit at the end since last night :)
> 
> Don't hesitate to leave comments or suggestions...keeps me writing this story

**_Primary Asset Location:  Washington, D.C._ **

**_4 Months Ago_ **

Root’s been gone for few days. You’re not sure where. She sent you a text, but you’ve yet to check it…you’ve been a little busy. Besides, you’ve learned (the hard way) it’s not a good idea to read Root’s texts in mixed company. If it’s been longer than two days since you’ve seen each other you can pretty much guarantee it’s some X-rated filth that requires a free hand and some privacy. You can’t help but smile to yourself thinking about the possible contents.

You and Reese have just been assigned a relevant number - Carl Voigt, a German engineer, who’s invented a revolutionary coolant system for Quantum computing. You’re currently acting as his driver/bodyguard transporting him to his hotel before his meeting with some top US scientists and officials. The Machine has informed the team to be prepared for possible kidnapping attempts most likely by other governments, so you and Reese have to stay close. Finch has also enlisted some of the more seasoned operatives to monitor hotel communications and movement on the street. Since you’re in D.C., you’re sure Control will make an appearance. This is right up her alley. The concept of Quantum computing will be a game changer for the world in general, not just for artificial intelligence.

Voigt ignorantly assumes you aren’t fluent in German so he doesn’t censor his conversations. You hear him complain over his cell that he’s being protected by a “kleines mädchen” (little girl). You grip the steering wheel harder than necessary white-knuckling it the remainder of the drive from the airport. You try not to slam on the brakes. If Root were here she’d tell you to ignore it, so you do, slowly letting your fury dissolve. _Go ahead, underestimate me, asshole._ You arrive at the hotel and as you open his door, you nod, “Herr Voigt,” and stare him down while casually open your jacket revealing an HK 9mm. Maybe it’s meant to be a little intimidating. He eyes you warily in silent acknowledgment. You escort him to his suite where Reese is waiting to take over. He introduces himself, sweeps the room for Voigt, then resumes his post outside the door. The agency hired to protect Voigt (your cover) has rented out an entire floor. Your room is adjacent to Voigt’s so you can be there immediately if something goes sideways.

You chat with Reese briefly and you’re just about to head to your room when Harold comes on the line to brief the two of you about Voigt’s patent. You can hear the excitement in his voice as he explains quantum computing. This is Root territory for sure. If you tell her about this, she’s bound to have the same enthralled reaction. “…By combining multiple qubits into a single system, engineers can begin to exponentially increase the computing power in a quantum system by using the idea of quantum entanglement; however, to ensure precise computations temperatures need to be 15 millikelvin which is equivalent to-” 

Suddenly, another voice interjects stealing Finch’s thunder, “Negative 273.135 degrees Celsius, kids. And currently, the only scientists in the world who’ve been able to achieve consistently accurate quantum computations are a group of Finnish researchers using something call the _Aalto quantum fridge_.” Root.

You roll your eyes. “We get it. More powerful than anything we can imagine, but in order to work properly it needs to be kept really, really, fucking cold. You two nerds about finished? Because I could use a nap before my next shift.” You click off your comms and head to your room.

Reese calls after you. “Shaw…(indecipherable)…package in your room.”

 _Package? What could possibly_ …You open the door to your suite and find a familiar brown-haired nerdling practically bouncing on the bed like a 9-year old at her first sleep over. You shake your head as you click on your comms. “Thanks for the heads up, Reese,” you say sarcastically.

“Anytime, Shaw.” You can hear the smile on his face. Jerk.

Root’s bursting with energy. “What’s wrong with you? Someone spike your Kool-Aid this morning?” You know she’s just dying to continue the conversation about Voigt’s research. You’ll admit it’s somewhat interesting, but you’re not in the mood for talking. Shower. Food. Sleep. In that order. No exceptions.

Root starts talking and you just can’t right now. You place a finger on her lips which she promptly puts in her mouth and you roll your eyes, but are immediately turned on. “I need to shower, Root.”

“I can wash your back...” Getting clean is the last thing that happens whenever Root joins you in the shower. “…or front…” she says, seductively.

“No.” You’re exhausted. “I haven’t slept in 36 hours. I need a shower, food and few hours’ sleep before my shift starts.”

She pouts, defeated. “Get my text?”

“Didn’t look at it yet. I’m guessing it’s something highly inappropriate?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll save it for later.”

“How about I recreate it for you now?” Sitting on the end of the bed, she grabs your belt, tugs you between her legs, pushes up your shirt, kisses your abs. “I know it’s only been three days, but…”

You’re melting into her, you’re so tired. This feels so good. You want to fall asleep in her arms. You angle her face up toward you, lean down and kiss her lips, then whisper in her ear as you kiss it, “Shower.” You extricate yourself and move toward the bathroom, dropping articles of clothing as you go, teasing her.

“You’re not playing fair, Shaw.”

“All’s fair-,” you stop short, catching yourself.

“In love?” Root says with a gleeful little smile on her face, blushing.

“In war,” you say, shutting the door behind you, effectively ending the conversation. Too late though. You’re sure Root’s brain is tripping over itself at your comment. You’ll never hear the end of this.

* * *

 

Wrapped in a robe, toweling your hair, you walk back into the bedroom and realize she’s already gone. You’re disappointed. The shower re-energized you. Couldn’t get her out of your head. But she left you a note. _“Sorry, baby. Had to take care of something, but I’ll be in D.C. while Voigt's here. Ordered your favorites from room service. Should be here soon.”_ She drew a little heart on the paper with an arrow through it. You openly groan and shake your head. She’s never going to let that comment go.

You grab your phone…open up that text message. _Thinking of you…and all of the places I want your mouth on me right now..._ Attached are several suggestive images...nothing too explicit because leaving things to the imagination is sexier. A finger brushing her lips, her hand on her breast, her fingers spread out across her stomach, the soft curve of her hip. You crash back onto the bed hoping room service takes their time.


	18. Stronger Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took forever even though it's ridiculously short. Apologies. Maybe it seems repetitive...a little stuck at the moment so suggestions always help.
> 
> I did a small re-write to Chapter 13. Seems truer to what they'd say to one another. 
> 
> Comments welcome. Need to get inspired to keep going with this!

**_Asset Location: Espinas Palace Hotel, Tehran, Iran, 35.7929° N, 51.3563° E_ **

**_Present Day_ **

The next morning, you knock lightly on Root’s door. No answer. The room’s empty of her belongings. Root and her geek squad must have left early. Hopefully, she doesn’t run into any snags along the way. You have an uneasy feeling about this whole thing. Root’s acting weird…weirder than usual, that is. You sit down on her bed running your hand over her pillow, her scent lingering, trying to put your finger on exactly what’s bothering you. You ultimately decide it’s more than one thing. You don’t like how you left things last night, you don’t like the situation with Reyes, and you don’t like being kept in the dark about what’s really going on. And even though Root’s being a huge pain in the ass right now and you’re really fucking mad at her…you know she has her reasons. You’ve been through too much together to lose trust in her now…not that she isn’t testing your patience like a pro.

One thing you’re sure of…the Machine never shows Her hand. She leaves the details to her assets, but keeps the big picture for herself, knowing that humans would make different choices if they could see the outcome, especially if that outcome involved losing someone they loved. If Root had known what was going to happen that day at the Stock Exchange, she never would have asked you to get that access code. And most likely, the entire team would have been killed or taken by Samaritan.

Your thoughts drift back to that day. You can still feel your grip on her leather jacket as you pulled her into you, impatiently crushing your lips against hers. She wasn’t ready. You remember the shocked look on her face, the desperation, anguish as she realized what you were about to do…sacrifice yourself…for her. You can still hear her scream. It’s seared into your memory, will never be forgotten or erased no matter how many simulations you suffered. You’ve never talked to Root about what happened after. You’re sure it’s something she’d just as soon forget. But that night at the lake house, Reese knew you needed to hear it. Though he never directly said, you know he didn’t want you making the same mistakes he had. You listened quietly, never asking questions. Later, your curiosity piqued, you demanded the Machine give you every audio and video file. You watched, listened as Root spiraled out of control, a war raging within her. You watched as she so easily fell back into old habits.

This is how “Root” was born…watching helplessly as Hannah got into that car, someone she loved deeply, taken from her. And the ultimate betrayal, the people with the power to help, ignoring her, denying her. And it was happening again. But this time, it was different. She had an all-powerful Artificial Intelligence on her side. One she’d sacrificed for, bled for. One she was willing to give her life for because She had given her everything…a purpose, friendship…love. And once again, unbelievably, she was denied. Devastated and humbled, you watched her walk away. Something you never thought possible. That’s how much you mean to her. This world, the one she’s trying so desperately to preserve, she only wants it if you’re in it. So, when she told you she couldn’t live without you…you know…she can’t.

You realize that protecting Reyes is her way of trying to keep you out of the direct line of fire. You’re not sure why a 120-pound computer nerd _still_ think she’s better at making these decisions for you. You’re a Marine, Black-Ops, ISA. Trained to kill. Doesn’t she realize by now you’re stronger together than apart? How many times do you have to save her ass for her to comprehend this? You know she’s not being stubborn. She’s reacting out of a deep-seated fear. A fear that she will lose you again. She will do what she thinks is necessary to protect you even if that means going against her own needs and wants and pushing you toward Reyes. Which also means, she’s planning on making herself the target. Alone. Presently, she’s probably planning something really fucking stupid…like strolling into the middle of Natanz like she’s the crazy neighbor lady knocking on doors looking for her lost dog. You have a sour feeling in the pit of your stomach. You need to find her.

A knock on your door rouses you from your thoughts. “Dr. Javadi? Time to go.” You place your hand on her pillow for a second, then retreat to back into your own room, grab your bag and head out.


	19. Stay the course

**_Asset Location: Natanz, Isfahan Province, Iran 33°43′N, 51°43′E_ **

**_Present Day_ **

The drive to Natanz is uneventful. Shaw stays alert while actively trying to avoid engaging in the exhaustive small talk and camaraderie happening within the group. She stays partially tuned in to the conversation, smiling and nodding at the appropriate moments. Pretending to be a well-adjusted member of society for the length of this mission is pure torture. Shaw start thinking of all the things she’d gladly subject herself to instead like…water-boarding, being shot at, being shot, being tazed, Root’s horrible jokes… She wishes Root were here. She’d most likely be smirking and uttering a smart-ass comment under her breath right about now only to see Shaw smile.

Since her return, Shaw has become acutely aware of the imbalance that’s created within her when Root isn’t present and especially when her safety and whereabouts are unknown. When she suddenly reappears, Shaw feels something slip back into place, all the tension leaving her and she can breathe again. So right now, everything just feels off. It takes all of her patience and training to stay focused on the task at hand and trust that Root can take care of herself. She tunes back in again to find Reyes working out some last-minute logistics. She grabs a water and several handfuls of the snacks being passed around.

“Must have worked up quite the appetite last night, Dr. Javadi,” Reyes winks at her, flashing that perfect smile. _Damn it. Even her wink is sexy_. Shaw knows it’s in her best interest to keep up her end of the flirtation so she replies, “My _mind_ was pretty occupied last night.” Shaw drops the innuendo and sees a flash behind those dark, enigmatic eyes. Reyes’ cheeks flush and she turns away, clearing her throat. “Ah, we’ve arrived.” Their Humvee caravan pulls into an extravagant 20-acre gated compound. It’s essentially a palace built in the middle of the nowhere, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the poverty of the surrounding area and in stark contrast to the dry, washed out countryside. The ostentatiousness of it all makes Shaw wary. No doubt highly surveilled inside and out. Easy to spot from a satellite. A perfect target.

Shaw continues to observe Reyes, watches her muscles flex as she assists in the unloading of bags from the back of the truck, listens to her rapport with her crew, the kindness and strength within her demeanor. She’s actively trying to find the flaws, the reason to turn her down, to say no, to walk away, but so far Reyes is exactly who she portrays herself to be. There’s nothing not to like. If anything, Shaw should avoid her strictly due to chaos that is her life. Bullets, bodies and misanthropes tend to gravitate to her, not beautiful, intelligent, well-adjusted people who honestly believe that they’re making a difference in the world. If Reyes knew what was really going on right now…how her world would shatter.

“The IEAE team is already here and settled in. Your room assignments.” Reyes hands out keys to her team members leaving Shaw’s for last. “You’re right across from me if you should need something to occupy your _mind_ tonight,” she says, raising an eyebrow suggestively, her warm hand sliding the key into Shaw’s. Shaw’s eyes rake over her, giving her an equally appreciative smile and nods as she takes her key.

Shaw surveys her room and is pleasantly surprised by the accommodation although it looks more like a Vegas hotel room than a bedroom: sofa, king size bed, mini bar and one of those fancy glass and marble showers with twenty spray jets (which she plans on testing thoroughly). As she causally inspects her quarters, she inconspicuously checks for listening devices. Phone, lamp, some ridiculous ugly artwork on the coffee table, bathroom. Four total. Camera in the ceiling light fixture – the best vantage point, obviously. So predictable it’s boring. Since she can’t unpack her weapons or do anything to arouse suspicion, she decides to take advantage of normalcy and proceeds to take a hot shower and grab a nap before dinner.

By the time Shaw makes it to the kitchen, most of the team is already eating and mingling with the members of the IAEA inspection team. She plasters on a smile and proceeds to fill up her plate with the traditional Persian cuisine the chef has prepared for them. As she digs in, the tastes and smells bring memories of her parents flooding back to her, so vivid, she has to stop to take a breath. _She hears her mother lovingly reprimand her, “Sameen_ _jan_ _, slow down! Your food is not going anywhere!” Sees her father grinning over his coffee cup. “She’s a growing girl. Let her be,” he chides, winking at her._ A feeling washes over her that she cannot quite identify but exists nonetheless.

Suddenly, someone’s hovering by her elbow. “Everything ok, Dr. Javadi?” Jonathan asks, concerned.

Shaw realizes she’s been staring at her plate for a few minutes, “Yes, fine, Jon. I was just lost in thought for a moment,” she replies, giving him a convincing smile while simultaneously shoveling a large forkful into her mouth successfully halting any further attempt at conversation. He balks at her and turns away. She almost laughs. That was too easy. She glances up and sees Reyes across the room chatting with…with…Shaw almost chokes on her giant mouthful of food. _This is the plan? Root is part of the IAEA inspection team?_

Reyes catches Shaw staring and motions in her direction. A small nod of acknowledgment and it’s clear she’s telling Root about the team members one by one. It also looks a lot like Root’s doing a little flirting of her own, reaching out and casually touching Reyes’ forearm, throwing her head back, laughing. Shaw narrows her eyes at her, willing her to make eye contact, but Root knows she’s been made and is avoiding Shaw’s general direction at all costs. _Well, at least I know where she is now._ Just as Shaw finishes her plate, Reyes approaches with Root in tow. “Dr. Javadi this is-” Root thrusts her hand towards Shaw. “Lauren Hayward, Office of Safety and Security Coordination for the International Atomic Energy Agency.”

Shaw hesitates a moment before falling back into her cover, easily accepting Root’s hand and giving it a vise-like squeeze while smiling sweetly back at her. Root quickly inhales at the pressure, but keeps smiling at her pleasantly, hiding the pain. A look is exchanged between the two of them that speaks volumes. Reyes is oblivious to their unspoken conversation.

_Really? This is your-Her brilliant plan?_

_Trust me, Shaw._

Shaw finally releases her hand, noticing how red it is. She might have a little trouble typing later on...amongst other things. “Pleasure to meet you.” Something tells Shaw she may have more than one visitor tonight.

“I’m kind of a big fan, Dr. Javadi,” Root replies reminding her of their bond and giving her a look that implores, _Stay the course, Sameen_.

Shaw nods, “Uh, thanks. I’m certainly looking forward to _working with you_.” In turn, Shaw’s eyes convey her own message: _With you this time, Root. Do you hear me?_ Shaw turns slightly toward Reyes, “I’m going to head back to my room and catch up on some work,” she replies, shooting a glance towards Root to gauge her reaction, “in case you need to go over anything later.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Reyes responds.

Shaw knows Root just lost it a little when Reyes calls her Sam. Root’s the only one she’s allowed to use that nickname. Until now.


	20. Dark Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May make an edit or two to this, but just needed to post it...  
> Comments welcome.

**_Asset Location: Natanz, Isfahan Province, Iran 33°43′N, 51°43′E_ **

**_Present Day_ **

_Thick and dark, it pools beneath her body. It’s coming so fast Root can’t stop it. She desperately applies pressure, her hands quickly becoming slick and warm and red with blood. Sameen’s blood. There’s so much she’s sure the bullet hit an organ. It’s surreal. Root lays her bloody fingers against Shaw’s neck, searching for a pulse. It’s weak, thready. Her breathing, shallow. Root tries to yell out, but finds her throat paralyzed. Her pleas coming out like harsh whispers. Shaw’s face is so pale, but she’s as calm as always. She’s staring up at Root with a look of…acceptance. Root’s face is suddenly numb, her worst fear realized and she can only watch it unfold, completely helpless, her illusion of control, shattered. “What should I do?” The question is for The Machine, but Shaw answers instead. “Let me go, Root.”_

A loud, repetitive tone sounds in her ear and Root is jarred from her sleep gasping for air. She sits straight up in bed, her heart beating wildly, painfully in her chest. She looks around trying to remember where she is, who she is. Her body and clothes are soaked, damp hair pressed against her face, her throat dry and raw. She puts her hands to her face, wiping away tears with her sleeve, trembling uncontrollably.

The Machine’s voice is soft in her ear, “Another nightmare?”

“Yes,” she whispers, wrapping the blanket tightly around her, pulling her knees to her chest.

“The same one?”

“Yes.” Ever since Shaw’s arrival in Iran, Root’s had the same reoccurring dream. This is the first time that Shaw’s answered, though. It’s so real and eerie it feels more like a premonition. She can’t shake it. She lies back down trying to compose herself, slow her breathing, rationalize her fear away. Her brain is stuck in a loop, endlessly running back over each detail, Shaw’s words echoing in her head.

Just like every night since it’s started, she asks the Machine to run through the mission once again to help put her mind at ease, disrupt her dark thoughts. Root’s easily heard it dozens of times by now, but walking through the details is soothing to her overburdened brain. It relaxes her, helps her clear her mind of the chaos, like ironing the wrinkles from a clean, white sheet. The Machine plays a soft melody, the same one She often does to help her sleep after such occurrences. But Root finds her mind drifting to the one thing she needs right now, the only person that can bring her solace. Sameen. Her room is only a few doors down.

“What are the odds Sameen’s still angry with me?”

“Eighty percent.”

Root chews on her lip for a moment, considering. “What are the odds she’ll toss me out of her room in the middle of the night?”

“Primary Asset Shaw is sleeping quite soundly. She strongly dislikes her sleep being disrupted for reasons that do not involve food.”

“Or sex,” Root adds, a grin on her face.

“Correct. Or sexual intercourse.”

“So, my odds?” Root asks again, a bit impatiently.

The Machine is silent for a moment as if even She recognizes the fact that the odds are irrelevant to Root when it comes to Shaw. She won’t be deterred. “Fifty percent.”

Root considers this for a moment and decides she can work with that. Besides, odds are made to be beaten.

“All of the surveillance is currently disabled for the length of your stay. As long as no one else is occupying Primary Asset Shaw’s bed-”

“ _Is someone else occupying her bed?_ ” Root interrupts, curiosity piqued.

“Not at the moment.”

Root desperately wants to ask if _someone was_ occupying her bed earlier in the evening, but is afraid of the answer. She feels a pang of jealousy, yet realizes she has no right. Shaw would simply be doing what Root and The Machine have asked of her. Regardless, she knows she needs to set things right with Sameen before the chaos of this mission begins tomorrow. Has to set it right, before…things happen.  

***

Shaw hears her door slowly creep open. The moonlight is bright enough that Shaw’s able to recognize the all-too familiar figure. She sighs, but is glad she doesn’t have to get up and kick anyone’s ass in the middle of the night. She stays completely still and watches with amusement as her late-night intruder awkwardly navigates the room, clumsily stubbing her toe on the corner of the coffee table and muffling a grunt. Shaw laughs softly to herself musing at the idea of Root trying to be sneaky. Shaw sits up suddenly, reaching for the light, “You lost, Ms. Hayward?”

Root jumps, laughing a little nervously, “Oh, you’re awake.”

“I am now,” she outwardly scowls, but deep down she’s glad to see her.

Root approaches the bed, “Mind _discussing_ your research with me, Doctor?”

Shaw shakes her head, “A little late for a lecture, don’t ya think?” Shaw silently signals toward the ceiling, indicating eyes and ears.

Root thoughtfully tilts her head to the side slightly, a knowing smile plays across her lips. “Don’t worry, sweetie, they’re currently experiencing technical difficulties. Thanks to Her, all systems are offline for the length of our stay. You have permission to speak freely and move about the cabin.”

“Oh my god,” Shaw mutters, feigning annoyance at her corniness, then noticing the disheveled look about her. Her face is ashen, dark smudges beneath her eyes, sweat on her brow and there’s an anxious look about her. She’s literally a hot mess. “Rough night?” her eyes narrowing in concern. Probably a nightmare. And from the looks of things, it must have been pretty awful. Shaw wonders how difficult it’s been for her over these past few months they’ve been apart.

For Root, her nightmares were one of the reasons that, early on in their late-night encounters, she would often leave or retreat to the couch. It was her attempt to spare Shaw, keep that part of herself hidden, not get too attached. She had no intention of burdening her with her pain, exposing her weakness. It would be a whole new level of intimacy that she preferred to avoid and that she was sure Shaw wanted no parts of. It was just sex, after all. Until one night, she was startled awake from a particularly terrifying dream. Shaw’s hand was on her shoulder gently shaking her as she hovered above her, an odd expression on her face. Wordlessly, she extended her hand, guided Root back to the warmth of her bed, her arms. It was a turning point for both of them. Root, for finally accepting help, trusting someone. Shaw, for offering. Over time, she realized her nightmares were less frequent.

Root disregards Shaw’s question, her concern. “Still mad at me?”

Shaw expects her to deflect. It’s what she does best. “My crushing your hand wasn’t an indication?”

“Pretty cruel, _Sam_ ,” Root replies, a glimpse of sadness on her face, her tone indicating that not only was the handshake hurtful, but she’s also not amused by the use of _her_ nickname by another woman. _I understand why you’re angry, but it’s not my fault._ _I wish I could tell you exactly what the plan is, but She says it’s safer this way._ Unspoken words hang between them, neither having the courage at the moment to say what really needs to be said.  

“Lemme see,” Shaw nods, guiltily beckoning her forward.  

Root reluctantly extends her hand, Shaw gently takes it. A single touch of Sameen’s fingertips sends waves of warmth through Root, igniting a dull ache between her legs. She watches as Sameen methodically examines it, running her thumb softly across her palm. In these moments, Root witnesses a transformation in her, sees clearly the doctor she could have been. A true and noble purpose, meant to heal, not to harm. How different her life would have been had she been allowed to save people as opposed to kill them. How angry it makes Root that she was judged so callously by those fucking elitist pricks.

Finally satisfied that she didn’t incur any physical harm, Shaw lets go, but is furious with herself for hurting Root even in such a seemingly insignificant manner. It’s been difficult, controlling her anger, since her return from Samaritan. But there’s no excuse in her book. You don’t hurt the people you…care about. Even something as minor as purposely squeezing her hand too hard – it’s unacceptable. A little harder and she would have broken it, she knows. The last time she intentionally hurt Root was that right hook she delivered to her jaw after they rescued Jason. She’ll admit it felt good and Root definitely deserved it, but now, things are very different. Hurting Root (outside of the bedroom, without consent) is a betrayal of trust. It’s something she’s sure Root suffered at the hands of her abusive mother – those unpredictable moments of violence, those small cruelties, tearing away at her humanity bit by bit. Shaw speaks in a low tone, “I’m sorry, Root.” She pauses, wanting to say more, but unable to find the words, staring down at her hands, uncomfortable.  

“I know,” Root nods, understanding all that she doesn’t say. She knows what’s going through her head right now and her heart is breaking. Shaw is still suffering and most likely always will. Root blames herself for that, too. Failing her, once again, with her absence during a large part of her recovery these last few months. She should have been there. Root stands motionless beside the bed unsure of so many things in this moment.

Finally, Shaw breaks the silence, finding a way to reassure her in a very Shaw-like manner. “C’mere,” Shaw opens the covers for her, inviting her in. Root visibly hesitates. Shaw sighs, “C’mon, stalker.” Root smiles down at her, a smile that reaches her eyes. The one that Shaw’s missed so much. Tells her that she’s forgiven.

Root climbs in, pressing her back up against Shaw, while simultaneously wrapping Shaw’s arm around her like a security blanket, pulling her close. She feels the warmth emanating from her and breathes a soft, satisfied sigh of relief.  

Shaw presses her lips against the back of Root’s neck tasting the salt on her skin, feels her shiver against her. “Just need to make sure you’re out of here before sun up.”

“You worried mom’s going to catch us?” Root teases.

“Not unless you’re too loud,” Shaw smiles into her neck, pulling at her t-shirt and nipping her shoulder blade.

 

_To be continued…_


End file.
